The Cat (No 113)
by wickness
Summary: A famed painting goes missing. A name on the blacklist is heard on every news station around the world. A criminal is at large, and it's clear that Red is somehow involved. But as Lizzie is learning, there is more to the story that what appears just on the surface.
1. Cat's Eye

**Hello! I was inspired by the last episode (01x06) and Red's interest in the painting of a ship lost at sea. That's where the inspiration begins, but since then, it has taken on a life of its own. Of course, I don't own the awesome characters or story of the Blacklist. Any feedback, constructive criticism, thoughts, concerns, or questions are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy!**

(x)

Marble Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

The cold seeped in all the way down to his bones. A lone guard, dressed from head to toe in a fur coat and hat, shivered as he watched his breath turn to ice in the freezing air. He was no stranger to the temperature or to the long nights without the sting of alcohol to warm himself. But he wasn't on post outside. He was on post –inside-, and he'd been on post for fourteen hours now. Even for the dead of Russian winter, this was ridiculous. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that those идиоты he worked with either turned off the heater as their idea of a joke, or they noticed the heater wasn't working and let it be his problem to deal with.

He took out his cell phone in his gloved hand. He tried Dmitri. He tried Romanski. He even tried Pyetr. Of course, none of the idiots picked up. He spat out under his breath. "Черт! он холоднее, чем презрение к моей жене."

Grumbling and cursing, he stomped away from his post to go fix the problem himself.

As his footsteps grew fainter and fainter, echoing ethereally within the confines of the breath-takingly opulent Marble Palace, half a face moved into the light streaming through the stained glass windows. A smile curled upward.

The darkly dressed figure moved soundlessly out from the shadows and into the main museum floor. The figure stopped short at an overwhelming painting, done in the colors and technique of the late Baroque era. While the painting reminded the figure of a Courier and Ives, its value could not be measured. It was priceless.

The figure refused to damage any part of the original artwork, but that didn't mean that it couldn't be replaced with a lesser version of itself. The figure worked cleanly and efficiently with a quickness that could only come from practice and experience, before taking leave just as soundlessly as making the arrival. By the time the guard returned to his post, cursing further about the room's broken heater, the thief and the painting had disappeared altogether.

It would be nine hours before the crime would be discovered. Not on the recording systems that had been compromised, but by the talisman the thief left at the scene of the crime.

(x)

FBI Headquarters

Washington, D.C.

"Gemstone."

Her team members, Ressler and Cooper, stared back at her mutely.

Liz repeated herself. "I believe the word you're looking for is gemstone."

Donald patted his lips in that dry, condescending way he so often did. "Talisman, gemstone, dollar store knick knack. Whatever you want to call it. He comes in, robs the place right under the noses of the guards, and leaves undeniable evidence for anyone to come along and find. It's pure ego."

Liz surprised herself by not saying 'wouldn't you know?' She added, "He likes to taunt law enforcement, of any kind, apparently." Both Ressler and Liz's eyes moved to the plasma TV screen hanging above them. It played more news footage of the crime scene in St. Petersburg. The moment Liz had turned on her television this morning, she knew her agency would be involved, and that the day would be a long one.

Cooper took out a remote control and changed the image on the screen to a blurred, dark picture showing what Liz could only assume was sadly the best photographic evidence that had ever been taken of the thief. "Our man likes his games. The papers call these runarounds he gives law enforcement 'lighthearted', despite the severity of his crimes. But seems he's taken the leap into darker waters this time."

Liz frowned. "How so?"

Cooper changed the image again. This time to a stern Arab man dressed in traditional white garb stared down at them. "Here's what your local news stations won't tell you. This time our international art thief didn't just steal a painting. He stole a painting that's of great significance to Amad Yousef, the Syrian dictator."

Donald crossed his arms. "What's he got to do with a painting of three white guys freezing their asses off in Siberia?"

They heard his voice before they saw him. "Three Russian gentlemen." Red's voice was as crisp as his shirt collar. "They're hunting in what is now the Sakha Republic. But close enough. For government work." He smiled at his own words. He liked to do that. "A rather famous work called Богатыри, otherwise known as 'Boyatri'. The Knights." He shrugged. "Not really my thing personally, but then again, I'm not a Russian diplomat."

Liz listened to the history lesson and turned back to Cooper. "Yousef's not Russian. He's Syrian. What's he got to do with the painting?"

Cooper paused and then said, "It wasn't so much the painting as what was inside of it. According to communications intercepted between Russia and Syria, the canvases of the painting were being used as a means of transporting a computer chip containing documents. Documents that may outline not otherwise disclosed military locations, along with plans the military are intending to carry out."

Red stepped forward, dressed from head to toe in a pressed suit and sharp hat as usual. "The Syrians aren't much for allies. But when it's Russia or nothing, some countries still take Russia."

Ressler asked, "What about NSA? Homeland security? How did this fall to us?"

Liz gazed down at freshly printed information in front of her. As she read, she reported, "They believe the Cat is back in the United States. Specifically the capitol."

Red seemed to find something amusing about that. "The Cat," he mused.

Liz looked at him. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

He answered her question with a question. "What makes you so sure it's the Cat?" he asked.

Ressler answered for her. "It has all his signatures. The break-in. The shutdown of all security in a government building, without it registering with Russian intelligence. The talism…" He glanced at Liz and looked for a moment like he wanted to roll his eyes, though he refrained. "The gemstone. All that was missing was a photo with a signed autograph."

"And," Red added. "DNA evidence."

"There's DNA evidence," Cooper corrected. "Just nothing that ever has any hits on any criminal database."

"Guy's a ghost," Ressler said.

Liz asked Red. "Are you suggesting our cat is actually a copy-cat?"

Red clicked his lips and said, "It is outside the usual MO. Though agencies do have all the evidence Ressler mentioned. Moreover, whoever stole the painting used tactics the Cat's used many times before."

Liz watched Red carefully. She tried to read his face, found she couldn't, and kept trying to read it anyway, like a language that she recognized but couldn't translate. "You talk about this man like you know something about him."

Red neither confirmed nor denied her statement. "Whatever I may or may not know, Lizzie, the Syrian government has a wealth of funding at their disposal. With their assets and sudden vested interest, I'd be in shock if they didn't put out a contract on the Cat before I could employ my own resources."

"Funny you say that." Liz looked up. "They have."

Red nodded sagely in response.

Liz held up a wanted poster print-out with a face she'd grown to know well. "While they were at it, they put a contract out on you, too."


	2. Copycat

**Thanks for all the feedback! xyber116: I didn't know that was the name of the painting. Thank you. That was incredibly helpful.**

**I feel the need for a confession. Full disclosure: I typically finish a story before I post it, but I have been so in love with this series that I couldn't wait to post. My apologies in advance if all the things I'm lining up don't pan out seamlessly! However, I never start a story unless I have the ending in mind. :)**

(x)

Ressler's face steeled over, even more so than usual. "What do you mean there's a contract out on him?"

Red let off an interested 'hmm' as he gently accepted the print-out. "You know, it's like the DMV. Once it's issued, they typically don't let you change the picture. Though it is from my 'Younger Days' collection."

Liz nodded to the paper. "According to the contract, it just went live this morning."

Cooper turned his glare to Red. "You don't look surprised."

"Oh, I am," he said as he handed the paper back to Liz. "I didn't even break into the five hundreds this time. The dead or alive piece gave it some zing, but it's really fairly standard."

Cooper demanded, "Why would the Syrian government be interested in you all of a sudden?"

He appraised the man. "Careful, Cooper. Your face might freeze that way. It's not a myth. It does happen."

Liz looked pointedly to Red. "What's your involvement?" When he didn't answer immediately, she said, "You can't expect us to believe that this is some kind of coincidence."

Red looked at Liz. He shared a glance with her that let her know that he could have made a comment about her, her husband, the recent past, and what seemed to be an emergence of coincidences. However, he strayed from an easy comeback. "Lizzie, I have turned myself into the authorities and have been bringing criminals to justice as requested and not requested in a public fashion. You have to admit that it really was only a matter of time before other criminal figures, crime rings, and even whole countries paid that some attention."

Liz's glance said she didn't believe him, but she also didn't challenge him, not for the moment. She couldn't decide what bothered her more, that he was evading the truth again, that he continued to call her Lizzie, or that she was getting used to both. "According to the information we have, the Cat is back in the United States. Do you believe that's true?"

"It wouldn't be uncommon," Red answered. "This country is a popular travel destination for the recently wealthy-"

No sooner had the words left Red's mouth than the room went dark, and the power inside the agency went out completely. A few surprised shouts and cries echoed throughout the building. Liz took out her cell phone and put on flashlight mode. She walked forward, acting immediately in trying to find the source of the power outage. She spoke aloud, "What happened?"

The back-up lights immediately clicked on, as they were designed. Liz stared up at a large computer screen that blinked to life with one word of white text against a black background.

The symbol read, 'ماكر'.

Meera, who had no doubt been drawn out of her office by the sudden power outage, made her way towards them. She looked up at the word and said, "It's Arabic. For feline."

The word blinked out suddenly and the symbol changed.

Liz turned to Meera. "What's it say now?"

Before Meera could speak up, Red provided the answer. "Meow."

Cooper called out to the surrounding team. "Somebody get a computer up and running. Find out where and how someone from the outside is hacking into our system!" He ran forward to join one of his experts in computer technology as the man attempted to override the hack put on their system.

Red squinted upward and held his chin in his hand.

Liz looked over at him. "Still think it's a copycat?"

Uncharacteristically, Red didn't have an answer.

Liz took the opportunity in the rare silence to lay down her ultimatum. "Look, Red. I know how you like to dole out clues and drop hints and give us a trail of bread crumbs to follow. Everything except the cold, straight facts. We don't have time for that. Whatever kind of assistance you can provide in stopping this criminal and fleecing him out, we need it. Right now."

Red opened his mouth to respond, when he was cut off by a cold, harsh electronic voice. The voice filled the metal offices, spilling out of their own loudspeaker, typically designed to alert the agents' of immediate instructions or an impending crisis. It echoed ominously.

"You could use this time to try to track down my location and my identity. Don't waste your time. I'll just tell you instead. I am nowhere. I am everywhere. I am everyone, and I am no one. And if I can get to you here, then I can get to you anywhere."

Liz felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She wasn't any more aware of the fear coursing through her, than she was that she had dropped her cell phone and that her mouth parted open, mute.

The electronic voice drawled out, "As for you, Red… I'll be in touch."

The lights came to life, and Liz closed her eyes and scrunched her face the sudden, contrasting brightness. The computers flipped back to their original screens. A rumble of conversation stirred throughout the agents, and somewhere inside the chaos, landlines rang off the hook. All the unremarkable, routine sounds of a typical workday flooded back, made all the more unsettling for their normalcy.

Red drew in a breath. "What I was going to say before we were so rudely interrupted was that I don't think I'll have to draw the Cat out of hiding. I think the Cat will come to me."

Cooper stalked forward, his face red, his resolve staunch. He addressed his technology team. "Find out how this asshole was able to hack into our system. I want names. I want locations. I want answers." As he kept walking forward, he said to Liz, Ressler, and Meera. "Conference room, fifteen minutes. I need a profile on this clown. Now."


	3. Sweeten the Kitty

Thanks so much for the feedback again! It helps inspire me to write! Decided that with the momentum I've got I should keep things moving. :)

(x)

Liz walked inside of one of the office's many conference rooms, specifically to one they'd dubbed 'The Blue Room'. Anytime someone asked her why they called it that, she told them, "Because it's not green." She sat down at a finely polished, expertly made cherry table. She liked furniture. Liked the warmth and grain of the wood, the precision of the crafters, and the way the truly extraordinary ones only seemed to get better with age.

Sitting in a plush comfortable office chair at the table among her peers should have made her feel calm and on her game. But somehow the agency seemed to take the comfort out of the usually comfortable, no matter how much she tried to pretend it was otherwise. Meera and Ressler filed in behind her and took their seats while Red strolled into the conference room behind them, looking like a man who'd happened upon a quaint, charming park and didn't have anywhere else to be besides.

Cooper walked in, took a seat at the head of the table, and let a file drop down with a smack onto the tabletop. "Okay, people, what have we got so far?" His gaze fell to her. "Agent Keen, why don't you start us off?"

"What we have here," she began, her voice confident and professional, "is a world-famous art thief who is now adding 'hacker' to his list of trades. In the past, he has successfully gone about his heists without making his name or identity known. Now, for the first time, he is using the technology usually reserved for bypassing security systems and stealing prized possessions to instead ignite and provoke world governments." She unclipped a stack of paper and passed around a clean, concise fact sheet. The one she's typed furiously for ten minutes and only once checked for typos in the limited amount of time given. "He is a career thief, motivated by profit. Now, he is emerging as a hacker. Hackers are notoriously known for doing what they do to bolster their own low self-esteem by violating technological barriers. The attributes that both career thieves and hackers have in common is their love for and their addiction to the thrill. The thrill of the hunt, the thrill of a challenge… and sometimes even, the thrill of being caught. The Cat must have been practicing and perfecting his hacking skills before he used them and now has chosen this time to employ his skills. So… why would he do that? It could be that he just woke up, looked at his calendar, and said 'Today's Tuesday. Time to be a hacker.' Or it could be a move made out of necessity or even desperation." Liz pointed to her sheet. "As you can see, I believe who we're looking for is a white or Asian man in his late twenties to early thirties. He travels alone. He travels light. He is an expert on both working and evading the system."

Ressler put in his two cents. "I don't see it that way. I think Agent Keen isn't seeing this for what it is. We're dealing with something much more serious. Someone who believes himself to be a criminal mastermind, who sees himself as above and better than the general public. Some people play golf. Some people go wave-running. This guy gets his rocks off by embarrassing whole governments, consequences be damned. For all we know, this guy's pinned his wanted poster up on his ceiling above his bed. I believe anyone who tries to stop him will be putting their life on the line."

Meera said, "Could be more to it than that. It could be a play for power. Maybe he's grown tired of the art scene. If you think about it, he has operated for four years now in the public eye and never once been caught."

Red made an interested noise. He stood looking out of the fishbowl glass window. He held a glass and sipped from it as if it were scotch, when it was only ice water.

Meera looked at him briefly and then continued, "I believe he's grown bored, and what do people do when they grow bored? They shake things up. They seek a new enterprising challenge."

Liz nodded. "Maybe this is his way of making himself known on a more international level." She looked at Red. "For all we know, he's gunning for your old job and trying to get it in a public way."

Red cracked a smile. "I hadn't heard the position was vacant."

Ressler turned to Cooper, "I disagree with Agent Kane. I think we're looking for someone older."

Cooper asked, "What makes you say that?"

He smirked. "We're looking for someone who would have seen that film while they were a pre-teen, teenager at the latest."

"What film?" Liz asked.

He said, "Darkman. It came out in 1990. Starred Liam Neeson. That speech he gave on the loudspeaker was verbatim from the Nintendo game that came out after the movie."

Liz caught herself almost smiling. "I didn't know you were a video game enthusiast."

Ressler replied, "I'm full of surprises."

Meera and Liz shared a short, but impressed glance. It was a good catch.

Cooper asked, "Given the profile we have, looking forward what should we expect?"

Liz answered, "More grandiosity. More drama. More public encounters. Whoever it is, they are looking for attention."

Cooper assured them, "He'll get it. Just not in the way he plans." He raised his eyes and looked to Red.

Red blinked and donned a tentative smile. "I think I'm about to get offered a penny."

Cooper cut to the chase. "You've be unusually quiet. What do you know?"

He stepped forward. "About the Cat? Or about the unfortunate hacking of your agency's very expensive security system?"

"Pick one," Cooper said.

Red leaned comfortably against the wall. Liz envied him that for just the slightest moment. How was he able to do that? To look so comfortable and at home in the most uncomfortable of settings, and not just look it, but be its very incarnate? "Hacking's not the Cat's usual style, neither is political involvement or international espionage. If anything, she works to maintain and seems to enjoy complete anonymity."

Liz sensed, instead of felt, the jolt that rocked through the room. She echoed, "She?"

Red glanced thoughtfully to the side. "I always had a passing notion that she liked being thought of as a man. I always figured it said something about how she viewed men in general. It's refreshing really. It's not often we males are seen in such a favorable light."

Liz stared at him, for the smallest moment, speechless. She'd thought she was past feeling that way when it came to Red, but it turned out she was wrong. He let them all sit there with their profiles and educated conjectures, when he knew her gender all along. "So you've met her?"

Red brushed it off. "We've had our encounters. Typically in passing. Like I said, she's not one for big meetings, at least not where she's known by her moniker."

In that moment, Liz knew what to ask for at Christmas. She wanted an internal lie detector, set just for Red. She stared at him. "Do you know where she is?"

Red set down his glass of water. "I have my suspicions as to where she's been."

Meera frowned as she to looked to him. "Where would that be exactly?"

"If I were you, I'd look for a public computer port. Within city limits. Try someplace near … a pool hall or a record shop. Or…" He looked at Ressler. "A comic book or video game store. As you've all said, she seems like someone who bores easily."

Liz said, "So you do think she's here."

"I'm here," he said. "If I were in Albuquerque, I'd suggest you look for her there."

Liz looked at him, annoyed. "How does she know you're here? Why is she seeking you out?"

"There could be an abundance of answers to both those questions, Lizzie. While I have my suspicions as to both, what you really should be asking for are my suggestions."

She looked at him incredulously. "And what suggestions might those be?"

At that moment, there was a sudden knock on the door. Cooper raised his voice, "Enter."

A tall, lanky man with a well-kempt beard and a badge hanging by a clip from his pocket walked inside. "Sir, we cataloged the bit bucket and our latest patch into the fencepost error found a com mode outside the operating system."

He said, "English, Bronson."

Bronson paused and rephrased himself, "We've located where she last logged onto a computer system. The signal's coming from an internet café in Northwest on U Street."

Red asked, "Isn't that near Buffalo Billiards?" He shook his head. "I don't know if they're even open anymore. It's been too long since I've been to that side of the city."

Cooper ignored Red's comment. He'd gotten good at that. He pointed to Red, but looked at Liz. "I want an agent with him at all times, no excuses." He looked at Red. "For the moment, you stay put. You can thank the contract for that." He turned to the rest of them. "Let's move."

Liz stood up and readied herself to leave. Before she left the room, Red gently grasped her arm. She stopped and looked up at him.

He said, "If it were me, I'd specifically put out a competing contract for the Cat. This time for more money. That way if anyone else with enough time and motivation and resources does catch up with her, they'll forget the Syrians. They'll bring her straight to you."

Liz couldn't decide which she hated more. When he so obviously withheld information or when he had an idea that might just be crazy enough to work. "If we do decide we want to try that, you better let me do the talking with Cooper."

Red smiled. Like that had been exactly what he'd planned in the first place. He leaned in closer. "The problem, just so you know, isn't that you don't think like an agent. You think excellently as an agent. But if you really want to catch her, or any of them, you need to change up your game and start thinking like a criminal."


	4. Cat's Out of the Bag

**A big thank you to Dr Alice, Jessamhe Wren, Michima, and ladylampetia for the feedback! Today I'll be writing more and watching The Blacklist on demand on this wonderful Sunday. Hope you're having a great day out there. As always, thanks for reading.**

(x)

**BYTE 2 EAT**

**U Street, NW Washington, D.C.**

Meera stayed to 'babysit' Red, as Cooper so tactfully put it, while Liz and Ressler drove through the crowded streets of D.C. traffic towards U Street. Liz had lived in the area long enough to know that D.C. only had two seasons: Winter and Construction. Though it was starting to get chilly out, technically they were still in construction.

As they drove, Ressler said all of a sudden, "It's really just a question of when."

His words shook her from her thoughts. She turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"When Reddington'll play us to the point that we toss his ass back in federal and throw away the key." Ressler said, "It's like he's not even trying to hide the fact that he's in on it this time."

Liz said, "I don't think the contract with his face and name on it gave him much of a choice."

"So how deep do you think he's in on this?"

Liz let little sigh escape through her closed teeth like steam. She understood why Ressler was asking. She was supposedly the one with her fingers on the pulse when it came to Red, or at least more than anyone else on the team did. Thinking thoughts like that always left her feeling a little tired. "Enough that he's as much of a target or as much of a threat as the Cat is." She wondered if he'd known about the burglary before it happened, as it happened, or if he'd had something more to do with its occurrence altogether. Red seemed to find question asking tacky and impertinent, while she found his lack of question answering exasperating and infuriating. She'd considered asking him those questions anyway, and then quickly dismissed the idea, telling herself that he wouldn't have given her a straight answer anyway. It was thoughts like this that made her realize that paranoia wasn't just a symptom, it was the disease. The more time she spent around Red, the more she felt herself catching it.

They found parking, eventually. Liz'd had her share of nightmares. Still they were nothing compared to trying to master the parking situation in the District, even at 2 'o clock on a Tuesday. They walked onto U Street and into a small hole in the wall with an intentionally sideways pink neon sign that read 'BYTE 2 EAT'. They stepped upstairs into a small café that would have been quaint, except for its computer terminals that sat live and ready at each table and wall.

A young twenty-something with gauges in his ears, hipster hair, and an ironic look on his face walked up to them from behind the counter. "Can I help you?" he asked, as if there were an invisible gun to his head.

They flashed their badges. "I'm Agent Keen and this is Agent Ressler of the FBI. We'd like to have a few words with you."

The hipsters' eyes were saucers. His face would have turned pale, if it hadn't been already. "Look, I … I just work here part-time."

Agent Keen softened her voice. "Relax. We just want to ask you a few questions about any female patrons who came here within the last seven hours."

The young man looked around. Liz then realized why. "Look, I-I just got on shift. Let me get Kyle. He worked here all morning." He put his finger to them and then ran into the back calling, "Hey! Hey, Kyle!"

A few minutes later, the hipster walked out with his co-worker, a young man of about the same age, dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, who looked like he was preparing to leave for the day. After introductions, Liz asked, "We're looking for a woman, no particular age, who was here at this café this morning. I need you to give me as detailed a description as you can of each woman who spent any amount of time here on your computer systems."

Kyle said, "Let me get the list."

Liz looked to Ressler. That was more than she'd been hoping for. Kyle returned within a matter of seconds. "Okay. We have a Deborah Conway. She came in around 8 a.m. She's one of our regulars. Comes in for a coffee and facebook. Then we have Esmee Russo around 11 a.m. She was, uh … Well, she was… hot. You know? Business suit, skirt, hair pulled back, makeup on. You don't usually see that type… in here. She was here for a while."

Ressler said, "Usually those types have their own iPads."

"Uh…" Kyle looked back down at the list. "Then, the last one to come in was Casey. Casey Leeds. Tallish, kinda lanky. She tried starting up a conversation with the hot one. Uh, I mean, Miss… Russo. I think she was trying to panhandle her or something. Let me tell you, that lady did not think it was cute. She was not trying to talk to anybody."

Liz zoned in on Kyle. "Did this Miss Russo… Did she say anything about where she was going or what she was planning to do?"

Kyle shook his head. "No. She didn't order anything. She just took that computer in the back."

Liz looked towards the terminal. It was positioned so that no one would be able to see her screen. She was about to head toward it, when Kyle said, "You know, Casey Leeds just left like a second ago." He went over to the window. Liz and Ressler joined him. "Yeah, there she is." He pointed down to a woman standing by the bus stop. "She's right outside."

Liz and Ressler glanced at each other and quickly bolted downstairs. As they hurried up to Casey, they found her in the middle of asking someone for money. The woman she asked waved her hand and shook her head 'no'. Casey shrugged and turned around. Liz looked upon the face of a young woman with long, wild dark hair and a reddish complexion. Her brown eyes went wide as she nearly ran into Liz and Ressler.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Whoa."

Liz showed her badge. . "Casey Leeds?"

She squinted, read the badge, and flinched in surprise. Then she looked at them with her mouth gaping open, not unlike the boys upstairs. "Yeah, yeah that's me."

"Were you in the internet café today between the hours of 7 a.m. and 2 p.m.?"

"Yes, ma'am. I got in there around like eleven, eleven-thirty. I have a paper due today, and if I didn't email it this time, I was gonna be totally fuc…er, failing that class…"

Liz profiled her without even registering that she was doing it. Was Casey in high school? College? Probably college, but … freshman. Spent all her money on drinks and making friends, and now she was too embarrassed or unable to ask her relatives for money. She couldn't without explaining herself, not this early in the semester. From a small town somewhere in Ohio, Iowa, Maine, South Dakota. One of those. She heard about panhandling or saw it on TV, and now she was trying her hand at it. She was no doubt learning it was harder than it looked. "Casey, I'm gonna need to ask some questions, but first, I'll need to see your I.D."

Casey nodded immediately. "Uh, sure." She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket and in her haste, she handed the entire wallet to Liz.

Liz accepted it. Inside, she found the girl's driver's license. Her picture had a side profile. Her birthdate made her eighteen, but just eighteen. The license registered her here in the District, but that didn't mean she'd always lived here. Next Liz found her freshman student I.D. from American University, along with a Best Buy card, an unpaid parking ticket from earlier in the month, and not a dime to be found.

Casey said, "Oh wait, I…" She pulled another piece of paper out of her pocket. "I have this, too."

Liz accepted the slip. It was her receipt from the cyber café.

"I don't know. Just… in case you need that."

Liz looked to Ressler. Ressler looked to the girl and then back at Liz, "You got this?"

Right, someone needed to go through the café's computer systems, dust for prints, and assess the crime scene. Immediately. She answered, "I'll meet you upstairs." Before she finished the statement, Ressler rushed back upstairs to call tech support and start surveying the terminals.

Liz said, "One of the cashiers upstairs told us that you were talking to a woman today, an Esmee Russo?"

"Was that her name?" Casey asked. "She just looked like she might have some money."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Um. She had on nice threads, and she wore these glasses that barely have any frames. The type I would have liked to have had when I was in 5th grade and didn't have contacts, you know? She spoke with an accent. Middle Eastern or … Turkish, or something."

"Russian?"

"Maybe," Casey said. "I dunno, maybe I'm wrong, but I got the feeling that I was really annoying her so… I kinda backed off before she got me kicked out or something."

Liz committed each comment to memory. They'd no doubt need it later. "Did you notice anything else? Anything at all? There's no detail that would be too small."

Casey scrunched up her face as she thought. She squinted up into the sun for a moment, and then said, "She kept tapping her fingernails."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, that annoying tapping sound people make when they're waiting for something. Like she was really impatient and wanted everything to happen faster." Casey said, "Oh and she wore headphones. But that was after I asked her for money."

Liz nodded. She blinked as she had a sudden thought and then voiced it. "What do you need money for?"

"The bus, uh, the metro. Everything? This city's kind of expensive. I mean, a beer is nine dollars." She quickly corrected herself. "Not that I drink. Or would ever frequent any establishments that sell alcohol. Because… I am too young for that."

Liz made herself smile. This woman – no more than a girl really – meant her no harm. She dug into her purse. She took out a five dollar bill and handed it to the girl. "Here."

"Oh, wow. Really?"

"I got my start in this city, too. Take it."

She grinned. The grin looked good on her. "Thanks. You're a real class act, you know that?"

As they stood outside on the sidewalk, a strong windy chill rushed past them. Liz huddled herself inside her coat. That's when she noticed that while Casey wore a stylish scarf and gloves, she hadn't sprung for a jacket. "Are you sure you shouldn't panhandle for a coat while you're at it?"

She shrugged, unworried. "It's cool. I'm pretty used to cold weather by now, you know?"

Liz shortened the list. South Dakota or Maine. "I saw from your license that you live in the city. Is that your current address?"

"It's a dorm on campus."

Liz took out a piece of paper and a pen and handed that to the girl. "I'll need all your information. Give me more than one phone number where I can reach you. Your address, date of birth, and your class schedule. Then I'll need you to sit tight. I'm going to need you to come to the office with us to make an official statement."

Casey accepted the pen and notepad. She scribbled away and then handed the pen and pad back to Liz. At the same time, she pointed up. "I think your friend's back."

Liz turned around to see Ressler heading for her. "What'd you find?"

Ressler said, "The Cat was here. Once they were hooked in, the computer nerds found enough evidence to show that someone hacked in and patched into our computer system and speakers from this café."

"Do they know from which computer?"

"Not yet. But they will." Ressler blinked and looked over Liz's shoulder. "Where'd the lead go?"

Liz turned around in a flash. She looked up and down the street, but Casey was nowhere to be found. She sighed, "Unbelievable. I just told her not to leave here."

Ressler let out a sigh of frustration. "You lost her."

Liz sighed to herself. "That's alright I've got her-"

Her breath left her throat as she looked down at her notepad.

'Russo's not your girl. Tell Red I crossed your path. It's usually bad luck, but it won't be this time. Have him meet me down the street tonight when the doors open."

At the bottom of page, she'd drawn an abstract symbol. Cat ears, whiskers, and all.

Ressler frowned at Liz. "What is it?"

All Liz could say was, "Dammit. Dammit!" She bolted down the street and up to the corner. She looked down each section of street, but she saw no lanky girls and no one with long, unkempt brown hair. Her mark, the Cat, had vanished.


	5. The Black Cat

**More Red as requested! From here on out, there will be the occasional chapter without Red, but I promise to keep them few and far between. Thanks for the feedback! Also a big thank you to all you other Blacklist Fan Fiction Writers out there. It's been so much fun reading your stories! :)**

(x)

**F.B.I. Headquarters**

**Washington, D.C.**

Ressler stormed through the doors of the agency and into Harold Cooper's office. "A kid," he growled. "A goddamned kid." He tossed down their file on The Cat. "And that bastard in there." Ressler pointed to the conference room that no doubt Red was no longer inside. "Knew it."

Liz and Ressler brought Cooper up to speed on everything. The internet café. The note, and Casey Leeds.

Liz, all nerves, handed over the note which she'd wrapped in a plastic bag. "She was wearing gloves, but that doesn't mean it can't be run for DNA."

Cooper seemed to process everything that was happening in stride, though he did release an irritated sigh. "Are we sure this was her?" he asked. "This could be someone that the Cat paid. You said that she was looking for money."

Ressler said, "We better hope that-"

"No," Liz said with finality. "She made a comment about how she was used to the cold. She'd just came from Russia. She disappeared without a trace from the sidewalk. It all happened within moments. This was someone who knew what she was doing."

"Could still be a plant." For a moment, Cooper's mind seemed to be somewhere else. Liz watched him imagining the backlash from superiors, enduring the embarrassment of having his agency hacked by a panhandling college student. He growled. "A college-aged girl seen in Adam's Morgan wearing street clothes that can be found in any clothing store in the greater D.C. area with brown hair, brown eyes, and white skin." He raised his voice, "Too bad the Cat's not a twenty-something with a smart haircut, clear eyes, and a business suit on Capitol Hill. That actually might be easier."

Ressler said, "Doesn't mean she wasn't wearing a disguise."

"I saw her face," Liz said. "I heard her voice. That's something."

"Did you get her address off her license?"

"I did," Liz answered. Her voice lost some of its confidence. "We talked to the students who lived in the dorm… It was clear they'd… never heard of her. There's no record of her attending the school. I still sent agents to patrol the area just in case."

Ressler spoke up with certainty. "It was a dead end."

Cooper looked like he didn't want to ask the question. "How old was she?"

Liz breathed out and said, "Her license said she was eighteen."

"She's older," Ressler said. "She has to be."  
Cooper held his face in his hand, breathing out a 'Christ'.

Liz said, "Ressler has a point. It would be impossible, given the amount of time that the Cat has been in the public eye."

Then though it was clear he didn't want to, Cooper thought it through. "It's highly unlikely, but not impossible."

Liz asked, "Sir?"

"It would explain why no matter how many fingerprints they've gotten from her in the past, they never connect with any criminal or legal matter in the system. Even if she'd been arrested for a crime prior to her becoming a career thief, juvenile records are often closed and erased from the system." He continued, "Also, the Cat is an alias. It doesn't mean it's the same person all the time. It also doesn't mean that someone couldn't use the same name very suddenly to gain credit, where credit isn't due."

Either way there were too many possibilities. Too many loopholes in every story. Half of Liz wanted to bang her head against the wall. The other half wanted a drink. And the hell of it was, if she just hadn't turned around and dismissed her as a child, they've have her in custody. Right. Now.

Cooper handed Liz back the Ziploc bag. "What do you make of this note?"

Liz sighed and said, "I figured it out on the way over here. The Black Cat. A small concert venue just down the street from where we were."

Ressler said, "Get agents in place. We'll have that place locked down so tight that the President couldn't get in without proper I.D."

Liz said, "We need to be there, but we need to keep our presence subtle. This might be our only chance. We can't scare her off."

Ressler challenged her. "Do you have any other suggestions for getting her to come out of hiding?"

Liz looked to Cooper. "No. But there might be another plan to put in place until we do."

Cooper leaned forward at his desk. "Which would be?"

"Red had an idea," Liz said.

Cooper scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Liz's voice held strong. "For drawing her out."

Despite his irritation, Cooper's response was immediate, which was a window to his desperation. They put the competing contracts for Red and The Cat up for twice as much reward money as the Syrians offered. Only their contracts read "Must be delivered ALIVE". The contracts went live an hour before Liz, Red, Ressler, and Meera left for the concert.

(x)

**The Black Cat**

**U Street, NW Washington, D.C.**

Meatplow. It was some Hardcore/Punk/Post Hardcore band Liz had never heard of. In their poster they looked like they'd never heard of a haircut and they had bones through places in the body where bones weren't supposed to be. Liz almost wished that she had a camera with her to document the outfits that she, Meera, and Ressler wore to fit in with the ticket holders. Of course, that was part of the problem. They didn't fit in with the crowd, and there weren't enough shopping trips to Spencer's Gifts or Hot Topic in the world to make it happen. Ressler had chosen to wear a leather jacket; Liz guessed because he thought that would make him look like a badass. She had to admit. It worked on him. He had the appearance of being super smooth. Just ask him. He'd tell you.

The rumble and calls of the crowd were loud, but it was still quiet enough that she and Red could talk to each other. Red had declined to participate in the costume party. He wore his typical. Suit, trench coat, hat, and aviator sunglasses. The type that were like the windows of a limo. He could see out, but you couldn't see in. He smelled of cologne and good taste. When she thought about it, perhaps the only thing helping them to fit in was having him there.

Red appraised her. "Why, Lizzie. You look..."

"Like I walked out a rave?"

He smiled. "I was going to say like teenage revolution herself."

"And you look calm," she said. "For a man with a three hundred thousand dollar contract on his head."

"Mm. One of two contracts. I take it the pitch went well."

"A little too well." She surveyed the club. "No sign of her yet?" Liz asked in a hushed tone.

Red ordered a drink. Scotch neat. "No," he said without looking around. "Though as I mentioned, having a second contract go live and armed agents patrolling the area may dull our chances of a second meeting."

Liz's good nature had dried up, though her honesty was in full swing. "As I mentioned to you, if you had given us a description of her before we left for the internet café, we might be at our respective homes for the night, instead of enjoying the vocal styling of Meatplow."

As if in response, someone in the crowd let off a bellowing, drunken call of "MEATPLOW!" towards the stage.

Red kicked back his drink in response, seeming to especially savor the last traces of scotch. "Give new experiences a chance, Lizzie. It builds character."

Liz smirked. She watched as he began looking around the club. "Find something?"

"You'll have to excuse me for the shortest moment." He said. "You can come with me, if you like. Though I wouldn't recommend it, I'm sure the gentlemen there wouldn't object to your presence."

Liz narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll be waiting outside."

She escorted him to the men's room and stood post. If Red expected to find an escape, he'd have to come up with a Plan B. She'd already checked the club's exits and he wouldn't find one there. After standing for a moment, Meera joined her. She was dressed smartly in a short black shirt, that gave way if she needed to run. "Where's Red?"

"Men's room," she answered, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, Liz let out a gasp and touched Meera's arm. Liz spoke into her hidden headset. "Ressler. Stick girl with a head full of dark brown hair. Your 2 'o clock."

She watched him stop in his tracks across the club. He came through loud and clear. He strode forward. "Look like her?"

A force pulled her forward as she zoned in on the girl. "Could be… I'll follow." Liz went towards the girl while Meera kept her post by the men's room. Both Liz and Ressler neared the girl from separate sides. By the time they were within earshot, the girl turned around. She had blue eyes, an exotic face, a tongue ring, and looked like she'd be drinking since the doors opened at seven.

She said into her headset, "False alarm."

Liz's shoulders fell as she shared a frustrated glance with Ressler. Then, she did a 180 and turned her attention back to the men's room. From across the club, she could see Red's signature hat as he spoke to another gentlemen on the edge of the concert floor. He swirled around his scotch, the way he liked to so that the ice hit the sides. She moved across the crowded club as the lights in the facility went down and the headlining band's entrance music began to blare through the speakers.

She reached Red and touched his arm. "We're moving to the back of the club."

A tall, pimpled adolescent male turned around. "What?"

Liz pulled out her badge and grabbed the kid's collar. "Who are you? Where's Red?"

He threw up his hands. "Whoa, Jesus! I-I don't know! Some guy gave me his coat and hat, and he gave me twenty bucks to go order a drink at the bar."

Liz demanded, "Which way did he go?"

The kid pointed to the door that led backstage. "He went that way."

Liz dropped his collar. "Reddington's on the run. I'm following," she shouted into her headset. "Keep an eye out for the Cat. She's here!"

(x)

**Roof of the Black Cat**

**U Street, NW Washington, D.C.**

A wind picked up from somewhere and pulled at Red's hair and jacket. He took in the view from the roof. He much preferred the scenery up here from that of inside the venue. Red swirled around the liquid in his glass so that the ice hit the sides. He then downed the remainder of his second Scotch. He held in his hands a state of the art grappling gun, left for his use, and looked up at the height of the brick building next to the Black Cat. By his calculations, it was a good forty…oh, forty-five feet higher than where he stood.

Red familiarized himself with the device and breathed out a sigh. "Well," he said to himself. "At least she has faith in my athletic capabilities."

He shot off the grappling gun. It instantly made contact with the top of the roof of the adjoining building and held tight. He steeled himself, pressed a button, and rose up, quite gracefully, to the Cat's requested meeting point.

Less than five minutes later, Liz raced up the stairs and burst out onto the roof. She saw nothing, no one, and heard only the howl of the wind in her ears. She found Red's empty glass. She held it dejectedly for a moment. Then, she blinked as she saw something.

She lifted up the glass so that she was staring through the bottom.

'Roof. Lose Them.'


	6. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

**Once again, thanks so much for the feedback. Big thanks to demonbookworm101, Pengu2510, Dr Alice, ladylampetia, Pandora'sMoon, JessahmeWren, and anyone else reading along! Just a heads up! I will be out of town this coming weekend, so I may not update until Mon. or Tues. of this coming week.**

**I just hope I can keep up with this pacing I've got! Oh, and here's more Red. :)**

(x)

**Roof of 1813 U Street NW**

**Washington, DC**

Red used the grappling gun and climbed onto the roof of the adjoining building cleanly and easily. Once he stood on solid ground, he drew in a deep breath, reached into his side pocket, and took out a handkerchief. He patted his brow as if he'd just participated in a rousing round of croquet. As he did so, he scanned the immediate area. Someone else might not have seen her. In fact, that's no doubt what she'd been counting on.

He strode forward. "Good evening, Casey."

Not ten feet away from him, a thin rail of a figure stepped out, dressed from head to toe in dark clothes to blend in among the shadows. The only thing that stood out was her bright red curls from underneath her hood. "Hey, Red."

They smiled at each other pleasantly, like two friends who had just met in the world's most unlikely backwaters.

"This better be good," he said. "I gave up my hat for this."

"You'll get another one. The same one. Probably."

"I've returned your device in fine working order." He held it out.

She stepped forward uncertainly, took it from him, and stepped back. "Didn't expect anything less."

"Well, I know how you like your toys."

She shifted in place. "Been awhile."

"Nine months," he said.

She did some math. "Thought it was a year."

"Well, a year since the last time you saw me." He appraised her. "You're taller."

"I got this growth spurt. It's weird, too. Everybody else in my family's real short, and all the ladies have these big hips and boobs. Someone forgot to put me on that list, I guess." Casey kept talking. "It's okay though. It comes in handy for crawling in and out of tight spaces, like air vents and some cooling pipes… It's good for hiding and things like tight rope walking, yoga, hula-hooping..."

Red kept his eyes on hers. She was scared. She didn't want him to know she was, which was of course what made it so obvious.

She didn't like silence, so she kept it at bay. "You look the same though."

"You still dress like you're going to a poetry rap group."

"You still dress like you're about to board the Titanic. Or meet up with your ska band." She nodded to him. "Did you get the painting?"

"I did."

She watched him. "…How'd that go?"

Red said, "I liked it so much that I didn't want to have to send it to its owner and his many wives. Though it arrived. On time and in excellent condition."

"What a coincidence. So did the money you wired."

"I trust it was put to use."

"Had to pay for the passport and a plane ticket to St. Petersburg somehow."

Red drew closer. He wanted to see if Casey would instinctively back up. Though she might have wanted to, she didn't budge. He took a breath and turned to immediate business. "You're trying to see how close you can get," he said. "You're getting… very close, just so you know." He studied her. "The way I see it, you called me here for one of two reasons. You either want to see if you can take me on, like one of your sculptures or paintings or Faberge eggs, because that would say something about the level of experience you've reached. Or conversely, you're hopeful that in the midst of all this you'll be able to fall into my good graces. What graces there are to be had."

Part of her cavalier act dropped. Her eyes showed some of their fear. "I needed an answer to a question."

"Do you have it?"

She watched him, like he was a live wire or a hungry lion or a shark in blood-infested waters. "I didn't mean…" She struggled with her words. It wasn't like her. "I didn't know they'd put out a contract on you, too."

"But you knew they'd put out a contract."

"On me. Afterwards, I understood that would happen."

He crossed his arms and held his chin in his hand. "You seem to be branching outside of your comfort zone. Very quickly, I might add." He sucked in a breath and held out his arm to glance at his watch. "By the way, I'm not sure how much time we have. The agency is steps behind, but not entire staircases behind, just so you know."

"Heard a rumor about that," she said. "Someone said you were working for them."

"And you didn't believe it."

"I believed you were there. Took a lot of time and networking and finger crossing to hack into the place, so you better freakin' believe I knew you were there."

"When I gave you the first rule, computer hacking wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

She glanced to the side sheepishly. "Yeah, well. Hacking's not my strong suit. I had some help."

"They did find you fairly quickly."

"I knew I wasn't good enough to get away with that one, so I made it work for me." Then she said, "But don't worry. I didn't think you were working for them."

"Since when have you known me to work for anyone?"

She grinned. "Well, whenever I do think you're working for someone, I find out they're working for you. They just don't know it yet."

Red smiled as she had her answer.

Casey repeated herself and seemed to want to level with him. "But I need you to know." She shook her head for emphasis. "I never wanted this to happen to you."

"Though you did involve me."

She opened up her hands. "You did tell me that I needed to align myself with someone who had clout and a reputation for getting things done."

"And here I thought you weren't listening." Red said, "I also suggested that you should change your handle."

She shrugged. "What's that rule number three? Four? I forget."

Red ignored the question. "It's hackneyed."

"I like cats."

"That's apparent. To the point of beating a long deceased horse."

She managed a smile, but didn't say anything. She just watched him.

He watched back and said, "You think I'm here to kill you."

She didn't correct him. "If you are, I wanted to know it because I heard it from you in person."

"Do you think I'm here to kill you now?"

"No," she said trying to be confident, though her scratchy voice gave her away. "I think you'd find a way to do it where it would be fitting and appropriate, not on some rooftop somewhere. And I didn't think hacking into your agency would push you enough to pull a gun on me."

"You know, there are more subtle ways to attract my attention."

She shrugged. "If I'm on my way out, I may as well have some fun."

Red considered things before he said, "Before I answer your question, I need you to answer mine."

She raised her head in attention and made a guess. "You want to know who gave me this job."

"I am curious, though that wasn't my question."

Casey looked at him apologetically. "I'd tell you, but I don't think that'd help me."

He appeared unbothered. "It really shouldn't be long before I have that information."

She waited and then asked, "So what's your question?"

"Why in the world, Casey, would you accept this job from what I imagine would be a well-connected spy or motivated exporter who is interested in Syria's military locations, when you knew it was only a matter of time before it would become a matter of international significance?"

She steeled herself over and looked him straight in the eye. "I needed a challenge. Like you said. I needed something bigger, something to give me my own name outside of yours."

Red sucked in a breath as he realized. "Oh my. You didn't know."

"Look, I…" She seemed to be jumping right back into her lie, when she stopped herself and said instead, "It was just a job."

"You thought it was only the painting."

Her voice raised. "It wasn't even the only painting I was getting that week, when you count the one for your friend the sheik or the Sharif or whatever he calls himself." She laughed nervously as she said, "I mean, I take jobs all the time. I have another job right now. I'm a busy girl, you know?"

He couldn't help but look at her oddly. "You took another job. In the middle of this?"

"It's not hard," she said dryly. "I'm working for idiots. It'll be over tomorrow."

"And just as I was about to suggest that you consider keeping a low profile."

She looked at him. "Well, I'm gonna need some money after this, don't you think?"

Red watched her, thought for a moment, and took in all the things that statement meant. He then said, "I don't know whether to feel a swell of awe or repugnance for your blatant and determined recklessness."

"It's okay. You can feel both. No, you can. A therapist told me that once."

Red smiled despite himself. It faded away sadly as he had a thought and spoke it aloud. "They're going to kill you. Once they get done with whatever they choose to do to you first."

Casey said, "But you're not the one who's gonna do it, are you?"

"Killing you is not particularly my style and would be somewhat counterproductive." He had a thought and added, "Though you could spend time thinking about, oh the couple hundred or so other motivated parties who no doubt in their wanderings happened upon that contract."

"Are you worried about it?" she countered.

"I have an array of resources."

She nodded and stared down at the ground. In the span of a few seconds, she went from looking relieved to looking worried. "You want to know what's funny?"

"You borrowing dialogue from a '90s video game in your hacking debut?"

She looked at him. "I thought that hearing you weren't going to kill me would make me feel better. I almost didn't expect to hear it, you know? I mean I had a whole plan for it, if you were the one who was gonna pull the trigger. I'd ask you for more time, even offer to let you come with me while I wrapped up some affairs. I figured you'd be fair about it. When this whole time, I should have been coming up with a plan for if it wasn't you."

"Well," he said. "I'm sorry to disappoint."

She smiled. "I told myself you'd be straight with me, no matter what the answer was."

"Did that give you the stones to set up this meeting?"

Casey pursed her lips and shrugged. It made her look even younger than her years. "I've always had stones."

"That is what you peddle."

She released a long breath into the cool wind around her. She looked like could use a cigarette or maybe one of the fingers of Scotch they sold in the building next door. "All right, that's what I needed to know." She started to back up. "Thanks, Red. You're a class act."

Red called after her. "You gave the agents your name. Your real name."

"My real first name," she corrected from a few feet away.

"Interesting choice given recent events, wouldn't you agree?"

She grinned easily. "What name do you like? I'll give 'em that one next time."

"I've always been partial to Elizabeth myself."

"That's the name of that one agent," Casey said, not missing a tick. "You got a thing for her or something?"

"If you're implying that I've spent a fair amount of time in her company recently, you wouldn't be incorrect."

"Seemed like a nice lady," she said. "Tell her no hard feelings, okay?"

"Is that also what I should tell the Syrians?"

She bit her bottom lip and said, "Maybe you're the one I should be telling that to." Then she said, "Don't get caught, okay?"

"Interesting remark. Considering it's exactly the advice I was about to give you."

"I don't get caught."

"Well… just that once."

"That had extenuating, uh, circumstances. Also, the guy never turned me in, so…" Casey was already to the edge of roof. "It was good seeing you, Red. I won't see you anymore though. Take care of yourself." He heard the firing of the grappling gun, and then she disappeared from sight.

Red breathed in a deep breath and released it. He then lifted his cell phone to his ear. "Dembe. I'm going to need you to acquire some information from a hospital outside Minneapolis. Anchor Behavioral Health. Also, I'll need you to get in touch with our contact in Moscow." Red listened and then replied brightly, "A ride? No. No, I believe one is about to be provided for me."


	7. Cat Got Your Tongue

**Back from out of town and here's another chapter! Thank you once again to all you readers out there and to ladylampetia, trulyyoursfiction, lilyoftheval5, Jessahme Wren, and Pandora's Moon for the support!**

**I had some fun with Liz and Red this chapter, and I hope you do, too.**

(x)

**Street Level**

**1813 U Street NW**

**Washington, DC**

Liz took out her gun and pressed out a deep breath as she saddled up beside the building next to the Black Cat. It was one of downtown's many office buildings, closed for the night. She didn't like tracking Red using the chip implanted in him. It felt … wrong somehow, like an intrusion or worse, a shortcut. It took the agency only a few minutes to let her know that he was right next door.

She readied herself. She was just about to bust in through the door, when she heard the snap of a footstep on the ground, far too close for comfort.

She swung her gun forward and leveled it … at Red.

Red lifted his hands up leisurely. "Officer, I know this looks bad, but I swear you simply have the wrong twin."

She dropped the gun. "Where is she?"

He dropped his hands. "No longer in the mile radius, I assure you."

Though she believed him, she called in agents for a manhunt anyway. Their agency may not have had the Cat's photo, but they did have an accurate picture drawn by the agency's top facial artist after a short talk with Liz.

When she put down the phone, she frowned at him. "Cooper's called us back to the office."

Red put forth his hand, signaling for her to lead the way.

She walked forward, and they both headed to her car. Before Red sat down, Liz reached into the backseat. She handed him his trench coat and his hat.

Red folded his coat and draped it over his forearm. "How thoughtful of you. I thought I'd lost these." He replaced the hat smoothly back atop his head. He breathed out a contented sigh, as if somehow now everything was just where it belonged.

Liz didn't say anything to him when they got into the car. She sat silently in the driver's seat with him on the passenger's side. They drove through the city, past the Washington Monument, which along with the rest of the city was also under construction, had been since the earthquake back in 2012.

For once, Red broke the silence, "You're awfully quiet-"

"I'd ask you questions, Red. I'd ask you why you were meeting her. What she said. What she's planning. What she needed from you. If she got what she needed. What your whole involvement is in this situation. I would ask you all those things, if I thought for once I'd get a straight answer without realizing later the real reason why you'd given me a straight answer in the first place."

He paused and then said, "You'll never know unless you try."

Liz stared forward, as they stopped at a delayed red light. She was still deciding which question was the most pertinent, when Red said, "I met with the Cat, upon request, on the rooftop of the adjoining building. Which initially I thought it would be tricky, but was actually quite exhilarating."

Liz asked in a softer voice, "What did she tell you?"

"She wanted to know if I was there to kill her."

She looked over at him with widened eyes.

Red added, "She had other pieces of information she wanted to impart, which I believe really was more her purpose." He wandered off topic as he became lost in thought. "Not that she'd recognize that."

Liz frowned. "She hacked into our database and computer system. Revealed herself as the Cat to me in person while I was trying to catch her. Orchestrated a meet-up which just barely worked in her favor. All to ask if you were going to kill her." Liz said, "That makes no sense. None. At all."

"Normally, I would agree."

"And why would she think you were going to kill her?"

Red looked at her. "I am a criminal, Lizzie. Despite everything that points to it, it is a fact you often neglect."

"In my experience, when someone thinks someone else is trying to kill them, they generally try to stay as far away from that person as possible."

"Which I'm inclined to believe is her next move."

Liz looked over at him, before turning back to the road. "She's going underground."

"Perhaps not immediately, but soon." He settled into his seat. "You have some time left to catch her, but not much."

"And after letting her get away, you sit here and say that as if you want that to happen."

A short silence stemmed in between them. Red moved his head to the side as a thought struck him. "A few years ago, I spent a decent amount of time in Singapore. Not far from China. Nearby Japan and Taiwan, so my visits to those countries were not infrequent." Liz turned half a face to him as he continued, "It's nearly impossible to spend some amount of time in that part of the world without becoming immersed in their culture in some way, shape, or form. Unlike this country, they value their elders. It's … admirable. To some extent. It seemed everywhere I went, I heard stories passed down from generation to generation. Some lengthy, some insightful, some … tedious."

Liz could have interrupted, demanding what if anything he was talking about had to do with apprehending their suspect, but she found herself listening.

Red said, "I was having a drink one day at this inland bar outside Simpang. An older gentlemen sat down next me. Over a couple drinks, he told me a story about these two ancient figures." He paused and continued, "Hsi-tse said to Chuang-tse, 'I have a large tree which no carpenter can cut into lumber. Its branches and trunk are crooked and tough, covered with bumps and depressions. No builder would turn his head to look at it. Your teachings are the same - useless, without value. Therefore, no one pays attention to them.'" He then said, "Chuang-tse replied, 'You complain that your tree is not valuable as lumber. But you could make use of the shade it provides, rest under its sheltering branches, and stroll beneath it, admiring its character and appearance. Since it would not be endangered by an axe, what could threaten its existence? It is useless to you only because you want to make it into something else and do not use it in its proper way.'"

Liz sent him a look. "Is that how you see yourself? My teacher?"

"Interesting that you cast yourself as Hsi-tse while casting me as Chuang-tse…" He said, "We see what we want to see, Lizzie. We do things to mold situations and people to fit our view of them. In the same way, we grow comfortable in the way others view us, no matter how accurate or inaccurate that may be. So we create situations to keep things the way they are. We keep secrets we know will be found out. We hide things in plain sight. We lie. Whether or not it's our intention is really…" He glanced up as if he might find the word in the ceiling of the car. Then he decided on, "…irrelevant."

Liz said, "You have to admit that's quite a line coming from you."

"We create arenas that force the problem to be solved. Because we need something else, an event, to change our minds for us. To get us to see what we don't want to."

Liz found herself thinking about things before she could stop herself. She thought in reverse. From Red's sudden, clandestine departure from the Black Cat to the first day when she heard that he would only speak to her and her alone, for whatever reason that might be. From the polished woman she was today to the scar on her wrist. From Tom in the agency's interrogation room to Tom down on one knee proposing, holding the ring she now wore on her left hand. She tried to bring herself back to the case at hand, the impending meeting with Cooper, and the teenage fugitive still on the run. But the thoughts wouldn't go away that easily.

Red said, "There's more to this case than is on the surface, Lizzie. Put away your hammer and take out a shovel. There's more to be found."

Liz found herself growing tired. From chasing Red, chasing the Cat, and from chasing the thoughts that swam through her head. "How do you know her, Red?"

"Look alive, Lizzie." Red motioned upward. "Your light's green."

Liz sighed, empty of a response, and put her foot on the gas.


	8. Dead Cat on the Line

**Once again, thanks for the feedback! RedandLizzie, Jessahme Wren, ladylampetia, and anime09 – put quite simply? You rock. :) I'm keeping things rolling. I've got (most of) the story finished now. Just need to edit, smooth things out, and put on the finishing touches. Thanks to everyone for reading along!**

(x)

**Singapore, Singapore**

**Four Years Prior**

Dancers, magicians, and fire-breathers dressed in all manner of shade and color took formation. Red paper lanterns hung high in the sky, strung together by invisible wire. When the wind blew, they danced as well. Dragons made of flashing lights, dragons made of paper mache, dragons made of people dancing underneath gaudy, silken costumes appeared from every corner. People of all ages, creeds, status, and nationalities packed the streets to the point where Red and his partner, for the moment anyway, were perfectly camouflaged and couldn't have been made out in the crowd by a telescope, tracker, or sniper of any excellence.

Standing among the swaying, packed crowd, Red drew in a deep breath. He smelled smoke, fire, roasting meats, drunken sweat, and the sweet smell of Vanda, Singapore's native orchid, growing in all areas of the cobbled street. He took every scent in with one single breath and exhaled. It was as if every one of his senses was a sparkler, not unlike the children around him swung and swayed in delight, and the entire street held a match to them all at once.

Though they called it Chinese New Year, Red had never seen anyone celebrate it quite like the good people of Singapore. There was dancing. There was booze. There was food beyond your wildest imaginations, and there were fireworks that kept the skies lit until morning.

Despite how he immersed himself in the sensory elements the New Year had to offer, Red wasn't here for the celebration. He paused briefly among the crowd's partiers. He placed a hand on the muscular arm of his very tall, very intimidating companion and pointed upward.

His companion stood at about six-five, and his hair was so blonde that it could have been white. His eyes were a bright blue, and with the corn silk hair, his Swedish or Norwegian descent was unmistakable. Sindre, Red always thought a rather feminine name for the building of a man that stood next to him, stopped and gazed up into the window of a small apartment. Someone had left a light on. Because that someone was home.

He turned to Red with eyes that perpetually seemed to squint no matter what the circumstance or time of day. "This is the one, right?" he asked.

"As rain." He added, "You have your man. This is where we part ways."

Sindre grabbed Red's arm with only a fraction of his strength. Red wondered momentarily if it would leave a bruise just as colorful as the streets around them. "I have orders. You are to stay with me until the job is done."

"There's no need for dramatics." With little other choice, Red complied. "What Paramise wants, Paramise will get."

They made their way stealthily up the backstairs and just outside the door to their mark's apartment. Red wondered briefly if they would find the stolen item along with its thief. He then dismissed the idea just as quickly, deciding that it didn't matter really one way or the other. He was being paid a finder's fee for the holder of the item, not the item itself.

Sindre took out a lock pick. Whatever he did, it was fast and silent, and the door opened in the same fashion. Soft light streamed out into the hallway from the open door. The man they wanted had his back turned to them. He was hunched over a desk, arguing with someone on the phone. A cloud of smoke hung loosely in the air from his lit cigarette.

There he was. François.

François argued in French with someone on the other end of the phone. It became more heated, and his own shouting created the perfect mask for Sindre and Red's footsteps. The man only stopped shouting when he felt the cold of Sindre's gun against the back of his neck. He gasped and dropped the telephone.

Sindre raked out, "Paramise says 'Au Revior.'"

François let out a "No!" that was cut off neatly by the short buzz of the gun equipped with a silencer. He dropped down onto the desk. He would have looked like a man who poorly estimated his capacity for exercise and had collapsed in the middle of his phone call, were it not for the blood dripping off the sides of the desk.

A voice questioned on the other end of the line. Red put on gloves and then picked up the phone and dropped it back on its receiver.

Sindre turned around with purpose. "Look for the safe."

His partner went to work, searching the apartment, and Red joined him, though with less haste. Sindre searched for ten or fifteen minutes before he let off a growling cry of frustration and kicked aside a coffee table.

"Now, now," Red said. "You know how you get when that temper of yours flares."

Red expected a comeback, a pointed look, a shove in the shoulder that would most certainly send him flying to the ground. Sindre seemed to like those. None of those came. Something else held Sindre's interest. He squinted, even more so than usual. He dropped down to the ground and pulled up the floorboards, which gave way easily.

Underneath them, something struggled. He reached down and lifted out a woman by her arm. The woman screamed, "No! Let go of me!"

He looked down into her face, and she stared back with wide eyes into his.

Not a woman, Red realized. A child.

Sindre demanded, "Where is the safe?" He shouted, "Where is it?"

She froze. Her eyes were saucers.

His voice boomed. "Where is it?!"

Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

A cloud fell over Sindre's face. He leveled his gun forward.

A shot rang out, unheard against the screams and shouts, the music, and the fireworks outside. Sindre fell to the ground like an overturned Coke machine.

The girl bolted before Sindre's body hit the ground. Red had to give her credit. He'd been expecting that, just not so quickly.

Without moving, Red reached out and grabbed her shirt collar. She kicked up a fuss and started shouting obscenities. Red moved his grip and tightened it to gently but firmly press his fingers against the skin between her neck and shoulder. He said, "You might not be in a place to appreciate this now, but it is exceedingly rare when circumstance, coincidence, and timing collide this seamlessly."

"Ow! Hey! What?!" Her struggling lessened. Her breathing changed and her voice softened. "What… are you…doing…"

Red said, "This will be easier if you just relax. It won't hurt or leave a mark. You've had a demanding day, and you need some rest." She heard the last part in a cloud before the darkness took her. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."


	9. Out From Under the Cat's Foot

**Big thank you to jjgoodhope, Jessahme Wren, anime09, and Dr Alice for feedback! Dr Alice – Hopefully this next chapter will begin to answer some of those questions! Hope everyone reading is having a good week and readers in the U.S. are looking forward to a couple days off for the holiday. :)**

(x)

**F.B.I. Headquarters**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

After spending a decent amount of time furiously typing away at her desk terminal, Liz printed out some papers, stood up, and paced out onto the main floor of the office. Before she knew it, Ressler fell into stride alongside her saying, "Follow me upstairs. Cooper wants a word with us."

Liz tried not to let her frustration show on her face. The last time Cooper 'wanted a word' he threatened an internal investigation that caught her off guard and made her head spin. A sudden thought brought her a modicum of comfort. At least this time, she was ready.

They entered into his office, a dimly lit room with wood panels that almost seemed like it belonged outside a car dealership, not inside their hidden agency. Meera and Cooper turned from where they were seated to acknowledge Liz and Ressler.

Cooper turned back to Meera. "Where you able to get in touch with your colleagues?"

"I was."

"And?"

"We have approximately twenty-four hours before this case is out of our jurisdiction and will be handled on a more international level." She added, "These orders come directly from the White House. I'm sure you can understand their interest with the matter."

Cooper chewed on that. He looked to them all. "I would ask you how Reddington was able to get away, how he was able to meet with the Cat, and then how she magically disappeared afterwards. But it's clear to me that not one of you has the answers to those questions. And the one who does comes and goes as he pleases from my station." Cooper looked to Meera. "Tell me you found something."

Meera stood up. She spoke in her easy, elegant way. "After getting in touch with my colleagues, I found quite an abundance of information on the Cat. It seems she has a track record dating back over the last four years. While it's been rumored that she works with various other thieves and criminals, it's only conjecture. Despite suspicion, there's no hard evidence that she's worked with anyone in any exclusive manner. She works independently from what we can gather."

Cooper said, "And her hacking history?"

"None," Meera said. "That we know of. Until now."

And yet the girl was connected well enough to Red. Though who wasn't when it came to the Blacklist. Liz kept her thought to herself.

Meera continued. "She's wanted in several countries, but as far as we're concerned, she has a warrant out in the United States for grand theft larceny. She stole just one of a set of five diamonds, a little known and comparatively inexpensive Govert Flinck, John Wayne's cowboy hat, and a security guard's uniform from the Museum of Art in Boston."

Ressler frowned. "What's the profile on that?"

Meera said, "This is a girl who's stolen from the Coliseum in Rome and a series of museums in Amsterdam." She paused to add. "She likes Amsterdam. And now from the Marble Palace in St. Petersburg. So the most popular theory? She can get into and out of most heavily armed and tightly guarded areas around the world with relative ease. In the U.S., she was doing the equivalent of toilet papering your neighbor's lawn."

Ressler said, "Having a little more 'fun' at the government's expense."

Meera agreed. "She has a pattern."

Cooper turned to Liz. "What's Reddington have to say about this? Tell me you got something from him."  
Liz took a deep breath. Later, much later, she'd realize that she didn't share with them the fact that he'd met with the Cat to field questions about whether or not he intended to kill her. That would be for her subconscious to sort through at a later, less urgent time. At the moment, it didn't register. Instead, she said, "Red isn't the only one who can come up with intel. Instead of asking him for information, I did some homework myself."

Cooper's eyebrows rose. "And?"

Liz passed around a short but concise packet of information. "I don't have any absolute or complete proof yet, but I did some digging."

They each looked upon a smiling photograph of a girl with red hair, green eyes, and a face full of freckles.

"When I first saw her, I profiled her. While I was ... off, that doesn't mean at least part of my first instincts were right." Liz said, "Though she goes by several aliases in more than twenty-seven countries, her birth name is Casey Abigail McCleach. She grew up outside of Portland, Maine with her father, Carl McCleach. While Carl's not wanted for international theft, his racket's nothing to sneeze at. He's a two-bit grafter with a long list of petty charges, robberies, burglaries, DUIs, assault charges, and prison stints. Most of which are from stealing and instigating bar fights." Liz continued, "Casey left home four and a half years ago at the age of twelve, according to CPS reports, when she saw a city vehicle from protective services drive up to her father's trailer for the …" Liz counted. "Sixth time."

Cooper looked to Liz. "How sure are you of this?"

"Based on my own experience with meeting her myself and seeing her face?" Liz said, "One hundred percent. But aside from that, that's all I have."

Meera looked up from the paper. "What else do we know about her? After she ran, where did she go?"  
Liz answered, "That's where the trail runs cold. She changed her name. Began working with who knows what criminals and began her crime spree."

Ressler said, "So the trail stops when she's twelve and picks up again when she's…" He did some math and sighed out, "Sixteen."

Liz swallowed reflexively and said, "She'll be seventeen. Next month."

Cooper's face began to turn red at the number. "Had our agency's system hacked. Got conned, not once, not once, but twice in Northwest D.C. by an eleventh grader."

Liz was going to say something about how she was certain that Casey hadn't kept up with schooling, but then thought better of it.

Cooper said. "Where's Reddington? I want him in here. Now."

Meer and Ressler left to go ferret him out while Liz stayed behind.

Cooper looked to her. "Taking a break, Agent Keen?"

Liz stood her ground and looked him square in the eye. "I think while I may not have followed every single protocol down to the letter and number in my brief time here, if there's one thing I've been doing I've been getting to know Raymond Reddington. More than I ever thought I would have to know any criminal when I accepted this job less than six months ago." She said, "As you said yourself, Red comes and goes as he pleases, whether there's a three hundred thousand or half a million dollar contract on his head or not. I didn't leave with Donald and Meera to find him, because I think if he wants to leave, he's more than able to find a way to do so."

Cooper narrowed his eyes at her.

It took some nerve on Liz's part, but she kept going. "And if he is gone, I've been working on a plan for that, too."

It took less than fifteen minutes for Ressler and Meera to return back to Cooper's office to tell him that they couldn't find Red, any evidence of his departure on camera, or any trace of where he might have gone.

Cooper turned to Liz. "All right, Agent Keen. As I recall, you said something about a back-up plan."

Liz nodded. As she looked at the faces around the room, one thing was clear. She had their attention.


	10. High as the Hair on a Cat's Back

**Happy day after Thanksgiving everyone! To all you Black Friday shoppers, stay safe! Much thanks to reviewers the EastEnder, ladylampetia, Pandora'sMoon, and Jessahme Wren. :)**

**(x)**

**Raymond Reddington's Private Jet**

**4 Years Prior**

Red relaxed against his leather-cushioned seat high in the sky aboard his private jet. His line of work allowed him some indulgences. Traveling in style just happened to be one of them. He sipped on a bottle of dark imported beer and glanced down out the window at the world, its pinpoints of electricity, and its troubles, removed from thousands of feet above. Though he was dressed sharply in a cream-colored suit from head to toe, he was the picture of leisure.

He heard him before he saw him. "Well." He also heard the snap of medical gloves coming off. "She's got a couple cuts and puncture wounds and some bruising. And…" Dr. Maltz plopped down in the seat across from Red. "A clean bill of health."

"So no plague carrying, no airborne life-threatening illnesses?"

Dr. Maltz waved his hand away. "Nah, just a few cuts and scrapes. Nothing to worry about. I gave her a tetanus shot, so she won't have to worry about irritating things like, you know, lockjaw."

"Good to know. Speaking of which, has she said anything?"

"Nada. She opened her eyes after I gave her the shot and fell right back to sleep. She's still in dreamland. Oughtta wake up soon though."

Red sat back in his seat, but turned to face the doctor. "Thank you, Abraham. It's good to know I can count on your professionalism, your expert medical opinion, and your discretion."

The doctor grinned in reply. "Well, letting me hitch a ride to a nice tropical location does help sweeten the deal." He put up his feet and accepted a drink from the onboard stewardess. "Makes me comfortable."

Red smiled to himself. He liked the comfortable. The comfortable were less prone to become curious and ask pertinent questions. "While you're here, please avail yourself of any amenities, drinks, wifi or cell phone service…"

"You guys don't charge for baggage, right? You hear some airlines are starting to do that now?"

"It's a travesty of our times, Abraham. All the more reason to procure your own transportation when the time calls for it."

"You're goddamned right I will. Keep sending me clients, I'll have it in no time." He smirked. "By the way, want me to keep the language down? There's young ears back there. What's she gotta be? Twelve? Thirteen?"

At that moment, a crash sounded as the door of the cabin in the back burst open. Casey sped forward, as if making a run for it. Both men turned around from where they were seated. She skidded to a stop in her tracks, looked at Red and at Dr. Maltz, and then she swerved around in an uncertain, clumsy circle. All nerves, she finally came to a stop once her eyes stared out the window of the airplane.

Casey turned back to both men and after a moment of stuttering, said, "I'm an American."

Red appraised her and said. "Old enough to know the magic words." He motioned with his drink. "Abraham, would you mind giving us a moment and joining Dembe on the flight deck?"

"I don't need an interpreter. I'll let you two talk." The doctor lifted his drink as he complied with Red's request. "Besides, gives me a front row seat as we head towards paradise."

Casey stood awkwardly as the doctor left the cabin, and she stared forward, frowning at Red.

"Why don't you take a seat?" He put forth his hand. "Would you like something to drink? An in-flight meal? We do still have a few hours ahead of us before we reach our destination. Though I understand that the pineapple alone is worth waiting for."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"That's quite a tone. Unbecoming of a young lady your age." He sipped his beer. "Though I do understand it's all the rage with your generation, really insubordination has been for decades."

"Where are we going?"

"Let me impart some advice. Use good deductive reasoning. Follow context clues. Avail yourself of technology. There's an app now that can pinpoint your location anywhere on the globe. You may be the only pre-teen alive to not carry a smartphone, though I really don't have a leg to stand on in an argument for one."

She kept staring at him. "You killed Frank."

"Ah, yes. The man who left an interesting assortment of bruises on you or put you in situations where you might attain them. If we want to be technical about it, I actually brought someone else there to kill him. He was marked. That's what happens in this business when you take things that aren't yours without considering possible ensuing repercussions." Red loosely steepled his fingers. "I also killed the man who would have killed you, gone back to his hotel, ordered eggs benedict for breakfast, and never once given you a second thought."

Red watched the stages happen. A door opened on her face, letting in a cool breeze of fear. Then she shook her head to herself and steeled herself. She had learned somewhere that even if she couldn't find a way to not be afraid, it was important not to appear so.

He said, "You look tired, Casey. Why don't you take a seat?"

"How… How do you know my name?"

"Now, that's a question I'd expect, but not the one I'd ask if I were in your …" He looked down at her shoes. "Sketchers."

She thought for a moment and then asked, "What else do you know?"

"I know you were working with Francois in some capacity. No doubt he needed someone small and wiry and compliant to help him in his illegal endeavors. Sometimes tight security can be tough to breach unless you're, oh, somewhere under ninety pounds. Somehow he managed to keep this little change in his original plans from Paramise, most likely right around the time that he decided to keep what he stole for himself."

She looked at him. "He didn't steal it."

"Trust me, Casey, he stole it. Even if he took it from you after he sent you to steal it."

She seemed to not like something about the exchange, and she said, "Is that it?"

"Nowhere close. I found more about you, about your background, and your travels without needing to consult outside sources. It wasn't exceedingly difficult. Which says something."

"Are you gonna tell me what you know?"

"I could, though you already know it yourself." He said, "You really ought to have a seat. As I said, we still have a few hours ahead of us."

Casey thought about it for a good long moment. Then she cautiously stepped forward and sat down in the seat next to him. A stewardess walked up and handed her a fruity drink garnished with a cherry, pineapple, and banana.

Red said, "It's non-alcoholic before you ask."

Though only thirteen, she downed the drink as though it was. Having a cool drink seemed to do something small but important for her. She breathed a little more easily. Red saw her decide something in that moment. She decided that she might be in danger later. She might even be killed later. But for the moment, no one was hurting her.

He said, "This hair-trigger panic thing you do won't really serve you where we're going, or much in general. You can feel free to turn that fight or flight instinct off for the duration of our trip."

She made a noise. "Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "Though for the moment, there's nothing specific for me to gain in lying to you."

Casey showed her next thought as she did every thought: on her face. She didn't trust that either.

"Though it's clear you have trusted others," he said.

For a moment, she seemed to go somewhere else. "Frank wasn't all bad," she said softly.

"I doubt you knew enough about Francois to have made an accurate assessment of that. Though I believe you must have remained with him for some reason."

"He taught me things, so… I helped him." She thought for a second and then said, "Not everybody teaches you things."

"Interesting criteria to have for someone who in the end nearly caused you to be killed. Most importantly, whatever he might have taught you, it wasn't enough for you not to be caught."

Casey looked at Red, studied him, as if she stared at him long enough she might be able to understand something about him. When she came up short, she asked, "Are you taking me to anyone?"

"No one treacherous."

While he spoke, Casey had been studying her drink and looking out the window. "We're going to the beach? An island?"

A small smile graced Red's face. "Have you ever been to Fernando de Noronha?"

She didn't have to think. "No."

"That's the last time you'll give that answer to that question."


	11. Cat's Paw

**Big thanks to RedandLizzie, jjgoodhope, JessahmeWren, and the EastEnder for feedback and thanks to everyone reading along. I don't know about you guys, but I'm looking forward to tonight's episode!**

***Fixed a location due to a review. WintersWolf: You're right. It is the Woodrow Wilson. Good eye.**

**(x)**

**National Harbor nearby the Woodrow Wilson Bridge****  
**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

It smelled like fish. And felony. But mostly fish.

Casey'd done the job, gotten the contents of a safe (a real bastard of a safe, too, a Traum) from one of those fancy-shmancy, ritzy four-story homes out in Georgetown. It'd been relatively easy, because it was Georgetown and not Russia or France or even Amsterdam. With her work done, she climbed in through the entrance of the harbor's warehouse saved for Dokes and his people, but when she walked inside, there was no one to be found.

Casey frowned a little. She'd given plenty of notice. She started to feel a very telling pull in her stomach. "Dokes?" she called. Her voice echoed, and Casey shook her head. She didn't like this. No, she didn't like this at all.

She then made a decision. She turned around to get herself the hell out of there. And-

Casey cried out as something hard and heavy crashed down on the top of her head. Then everything went black.

(x)

Casey woke up on the cold, concrete floor of the warehouse. Her head pounded to a strong, furious beat. Her arms had been tied behind her back – and those bitches were tight. Her legs were bound at the ankles, and … yeah, she had duct tape across her mouth. She blinked open her eyes, but barely. It didn't matter. All she saw was black, probably because … yes, because she had a blindfold around her eyes.

Whoever they were, they had her so that she could barely move a muscle.

Casey made out voices – among them Dokes' voice – not too far from where she'd slumped over onto the ground. "-A tip from some random phone number. I did some research, and we're all about to be very, very rich… So we do this right. I'm not taking any chances." His voice became clearer as Casey came to. "I want you to watch her. Do not let her out of your sight until she's back there tied up in the van, you got it?"

Someone made a joke, though Casey didn't catch it.

"I am not messing around. Get her in there. I've got a call to make."

Strong arms lifted her up. Casey went limp, though it was difficult with a man who fit the size and stature of a storage locker hauling her up over his shoulder. He picked her up in movements so easy, it felt like he could have been lifting her up with one hand and making a martini with the other. He walked her into the back of the van, set her down, and then he tied up her wrists to something attached to the van. Casey lolled her head down, and he appeared to believe that she was still unconscious. He didn't waste time closing both doors and then locking them behind him.

When she was certain she was alone, Casey breathed out a shuddering sigh. "Oh, crap. Oh, shit…"

She worked to see how tightly they'd restrained her, when hurried footsteps headed towards the van. The doors opened, and a man – probably the heavyset guy – started towards her.

Someone else joined him. "Push her head back," Dokes said. "I told you that I'm not taking any chances."

The Storage Locker grabbed her head and tilted it back, and there was no pretending this time. Casey bucked and began to shout.

Dokes grabbed her arms to hold her still. "I got her. Just get it in there."

Casey struggled, and then she felt the lip of a glass touch her mouth. The man tilted her head back and force-fed her some kind of strong liquid that tasted like she imagined gasoline might. She spit it out and coughing said, "Get the hell off of me."

They pushed her head back again, and this time – more liquid went down her throat. Ugh, it tasted like alcohol, like the hard stuff. But with… something else, something powdery…

The Storage Locker slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth before she could say anything else. Casey struggled again, but they were already leaving the van. "Buckle in," Dokes called to her. "It's gonna be a short ride."

They shut and locked the door behind them.

(x)

**F.B.I. Headquarters**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Liz scrolled through information on her computer screen. It'd been easy to glean more information on Casey McCleach once she had a face and a name. She had school records, doctor's visits, and she was working on locating the whereabouts of Casey's mother when a call came through to her cell phone.

Liz recognized the number immediately. "I see you're returning my many calls."

Red answered, "Oh, Lizzie, you know how the district is when it comes to cell phone reception. Once you get over the 14th street bridge, you're lucky to have one bar between there and the Nationals' Stadium."

"Where are you?" she demanded.

"I think you'd be more interested in where the Cat is."

"You mean, Casey McCleach?"

Red didn't miss a beat. "That is her father's last name, though it's been years since she's gone by it or been to the homestead as far as I know."

"Where is she?"

"Heading towards you from Southwest D.C. near L'Enfant Plaza," he said. "She became involved with a small team of unimpressive criminals who run a smuggling operation out of National Harbor. They needed keys to a boat, documents, and whatever else she could find in a safe outside of … you know, I can't remember if it's Adam's Morgan or Georgetown. The details of this town do blur together after a while. Either way, she's an ambitious worker; you have to give her that."

Liz stood bolt upright. "What do you mean she's heading towards us?"

"She is en route by my calculations… Contrary to what you might believe, I'm hoping she'll still be there when they arrive."

"Why is she coming here? How does she know where we are?"

Red paused and then said, "Oh, Agent Ressler hasn't answered his phone yet. Lizzie, would you tell him I say to go ahead and pick up the phone? This is a call he won't want to miss."

(x)

Donald Ressler sat at his desk, doing his own research on the Cat and seeing if he could find anything to add to her profile or her past to figure out where she might be hiding herself. He was so engrossed in his work that he barely registered his desk phone as it beeped beside him.

He picked up. "This is Ressler."

It was Marcie, one of their dispatchers. "I have a man on hold for you. He won't give his name, but he claims to know the whereabouts of the Cat. That's your case, right?"

Ressler spared a moment to shock, but no more than that. "Patch him through." At the beep, he answered it by his alias used on the contract. "This is Patterson."

A raspy voice spoke on the other end of the line. "Hey, Patterson. I'm callin' about the reward. Five hundred thousand?"

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Red's damned plan had actually worked. "Yes, you've reached the right number." At the same moment, Liz ran across the room towards him. She moved quickly and was right by his side. They set up a trace on the landline within minutes. Then he realized that he needed to ask, "Which contract is this is regards to?"

"The Cat." He could hear noises in the background. Whoever it was calling, they were clearly in a vehicle of some kind and going down a bumpy, loud road. "We've got her. Alive. Do you have the money?"

Donald played the part. "Yeah. Don't worry. We've got your money."  
"Good," he said. "Bring it."

"Tell us where you are," he said. "We'll come to you to pick her up."

"We're on the road. So you tell us where to be and we'll be there."

It only took him a second to scroll through the best, most easily accessible locations to corner them and catch them. "Meet us at the corner of Constitution and Rhode Island Ave." It was fifteen minutes down the street from them. Donald looked with wide eyes to Liz. "Let me get your information, just in case things don't pan out that easily. I also need your name, so I'll know who to wire the money to."

"Don't bother. We'll see you. In fifteen minutes. Just have the money ready to go. I'm not alone, and I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you don't."

The call ended abruptly. Donald held the silent receiver in his hand and looked to Liz.

She said, "D.C. number. Belonging to a Wallace Drake."

Ressler said, "That was a bounty hunter."

"That might be the role he's playing today, but he's involved in a smuggling operation out of National Harbor."

Ressler's eyes became even wider and he frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Reddington told me just about everything. Except where he is."

"Grab your weapon and a car. They've got her and they're bringing her right to us."

Liz found herself shaking her head.

"Yeah," Ressler said. "Thank God for idiot criminals."

They both burst into action and immediately went to alert Meera and Cooper. Ressler asked her, "How's this work with your plan now?"

Liz thought as she readied her firearm and said, "It speeds things up."


	12. Alley Cat

**Can't thank everyone enough for the feedback. You know who you are: jjgoodhope, Winter's Wolf, ladylampetia, and anime09. :) Kudos to everyone reading along! I thought about changing this chapter after seeing the last episode… but then I decided to keep it anyway. Hope it's not repeating itself too much!**

**(x)**

**National Harbor nearby Woodrow Wilson Bridge**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

In no time at all, the van revved to life, and they were moving slowly out of the warehouse. Casey wondered if her merry band of criminals had the smarts to leave someone in there with her. She didn't think so… She didn't hear anybody. Either way, she needed out. Now.

Casey took Dokes' advice and buckled up her legs underneath of her, so that her hands could reach her sneakers. She worked alongside the edge of the sneakers with her fingertips, until she found it.

She retrieved a small, sharp razor blade from inside. She held onto it, positioned it upward, and immediately sawed away at the duct tape. It didn't take her long to tear through that, but then… there was something else plastic around her wrists. Casey shook her head and sawed away. It took longer, at least two or three minutes by her estimate. She could feel the skin of her forearms starting to chafe, and then they started to bleed. But finally, the zip-ties audibly snapped.

Casey let off a short cry of relief. She freed her hands and tore off the blindfold around her eyes and the duct tape across her mouth. She looked around the van. She was right; she was alone. But they were moving, and from the feel of it, they were picking up speed. Casey rooted around for the blade, and then she started in on the duct tape and plastic around her ankles, until finally too broke apart.

Sweating and breathing hard, Casey got up to her feet. She had a thought and she checked her hair, which was done up in a bun. She took the pen out that was holding it together; then she looked around the bottom of the van for a piece of paper. She found an old receipt and scribbled something quickly before throwing it down where she left her restraints.

She fell back down as the van hit a bump. And then another bump. Casey carefully crawled her way to the door. She waited, feeling the rhythm of the road. Bump… bump bump… Bump…bump bump…bump …Bump- Casey opened the back of the van in time with percussion, but the door caught and held tight.

The lock.

Casey growled. "Really? You gotta be effin' kidding me…" She reached down into the lining of her pants. She yanked apart loosely-sewn thread and pulled out a tiny plastic kit. She opened it up, carefully as the road beneath them was getting worse and worse. She silently thanked the God of D.C. construction and everybody else's tax dollars at work.

Casey worked a pick into the lock on the van. She fiddled with it, got up inside the grooves of the lock. "C'mon…" She didn't know how much time she had, if any at all. "C'mon, you son of a-"

The lock opened with a 'clunk'. Casey wasted no time moving outside the van and perching herself on the edge of the bumper. A question loomed front and center. Did they hear her? No. No, not through all the potholes and torn up roadway and detours. And now they were… Christ, she wasn't sure where they were – but they weren't on the highway yet. Casey felt the road grinding beneath the tires of the car. They hit another bump and another – SLAM! Casey shut the doors of the van. If someone would have told her New York City construction would have saved her life, she never would have believed it.

The van was coming around a corner now, and … there was no time for her to even think about it. Casey held her breath and jumped. Casey rolled off to the side of the road, covered in pieces of asphalt and some shards of glass. She scrambled up onto the sidewalk and burst into a dead run down the street.

Or at least, she started to. She slowed down. Her arms felt like lead weights, and her legs … they didn't want to move and…

Then she realized.

It was the cocktail. Whatever Dokes had made her swallow. It was a sedative or painkillers or … dammit, she didn't know what it was.

Casey could feel her brow breaking out in a cold sweat. The streets around her started to spin. She walked forward, swaying, until she reached an alleyway. Casey moved lethargically and her thoughts swam back and forth like an ocean current. She wondered if Dokes or whoever they planned to deliver her to would find her or if something worse would get to her first.

Her mind was so lost in a sea of drugs that she didn't even register that she was beginning to move in a circle. Her heel caught and tripped over the edge of a dumpster. She lost her footing and fell backwards, feeling as though she wasn't just falling from where she stood on the ground, but the edge of a mountain cliff or a skyscraper. She didn't hit the ground though. She fell hard against something strong yet soft.

Breathing heavy, Casey looked up to see the hazy face of Red above her, hat, glasses and all. He shook his head at her. "All the way out here without a plan, an exit strategy, or appropriate attire for this temperature. I would have thought I taught you better than that."

Though Casey couldn't see it, she could feel Red's arm tense as he swerved around. He addressed a set of hazy figures. All of them less than five feet from him. All of them armed. There might have been two. There might have been five. There might have been ten. The double vision that came next made it tough to tell.

Red laughed, as if he'd just heard a philosophical whimsy that put Socrates to shame. "Gentlemen," he drew out. "Now, I expressly said that there would be no need for firearms. This does not bode well for the understanding I thought we had."

Casey felt the world fall away and her eyelids shut, but not before she heard Red say, "If you'll lower your weapons, I just might be able to give you something you've been looking for…"

Consciousness spiraled downward, taking Casey with it, until it became a pinprick that winked out.

(x)

The three armed men with heavy metal guns descended upon with more speed than a murder of crows. They took Casey from Red's arms, lifted her up effortlessly, and ushered her into a black number, a Mercedes with suicide doors, in a matter of seconds. Red stepped forward and joined her in the car. The inside had been converted so that up to six people could sit comfortably, three facing three, a baby brother to the limousine. Red sat down across from what would have been a clean cut figure, except for his long glossy hair.

The man cast his gaze first at Casey and appraised her, as if surveying a mediocre haul. He then turned his gaze just as dryly to Red and lifted his eyebrows. "You were right."

"Habitually." He relaxed himself against the seat of the car. "As I told you, we had one of two options and as I assured you, this one would be smoother."

"I'd ask you how you knew she'd escape, but I'm not particularly interested."

"Are you sure? It's a thrilling yarn. At least when I tell it."

The car made a sharp U-Turn back in the direction they'd come, away from the van which headed straight to the location Ressler had no doubt given them.

The man locked his gaze on Red's. Red had played this game before. The who would talk first game. The man had no idea to whom he had thrown down the gauntlet.

After a few uncomfortable moments, the man took a breath and said, "There's other matters we need to discuss."

"Such as?"

"The matter of the metal detector and what we found embedded in your right shoulder."

He pinned his gaze on the man. "We're back to that, are we? I've already handed over my weapons. I have no communication devices on me whatsoever. Are you aware of how many facilities, how many meetings, how many countries, how many underground locations I have traversed to? In every other situation that has dared arisen I wasn't required to extract the chip embedded in my body. So share with me as to what makes this situation trump other, much more imperative, much more clandestine and covert circumstances than this one? Please, enlighten me. I'm dying to know."

The man kept his composure, waited a tic, and then said, "I represent two parties who would both be equally unbothered by your death."

Red looked at him as if to say 'that's adorable.' "There's not time or enough breath in my body to list the parties I represent, and I would think you know that." Red glanced over to Casey and then back to the man. "You have what you need. I've fulfilled my role in this little caper, tenfold."

"No."

Red lightly arched one eyebrow.

The man said, "You haven't. Not until she talks."

"Well. If you could make her talk now, that would be quite a skill indeed."

"There are other options," he said easily. "I could kill one or both of you. I could look into things, like why she bothered to align herself with hackers to break into a simple warehouse's internet feed. Or I could alert someone else to look into it for me. I have to admit, I wonder what we would discover and who we would find linked to you."

Red narrowed his gaze. The gaze that spelled ruin for so many before this man.

The man continued. "I've chosen this option out of respect to you and to my employers."

The threats gathered and lingered like smoke in the air, only just implied against Lizzie. It was more than enough. In immediate response, Red held out his hand.

The man made a derisive noise. "You want me to hand you a knife?"

Red never blinked. "You have two armed men on either side of you for protection, and yet a knife in my hand concerns you."

The man screwed up his face. Just in listening to Red speak, he knew he had two choices. Deny him a weapon and appear weak in the eyes of his subordinates, or comply with his wishes. It really wasn't a choice at all. He reached into his suit jacket and produced a sharp, heavy knife.

It took some resolution and precision on Red's part, especially as they drove through construction. After a matter of moments, he removed the chip from his shoulder with minimal bleeding that he staved off with his own handkerchief from his pocket. His breathing changed only slightly. A single bead of sweat dropped down his the side of his temple, but he didn't break eye contact. When it was done, he handed over the bloodied chip.

The man took the chip in his gloved hand, cleaned it, and meticulously deactivated it, before tucking it into his shirt pocket. "It will be returned to you." The man turned his gaze to Casey, who still sat slumped over to Red's right. "When we're finished."


	13. Cat and Mouse

**Thanks to RedLover, ladylampetia, and Jessahme Wren, as well as to any and all other readers out there. I'm enjoying getting to the peak of the action and then to the chapters after that. Thanks for continuing along with me!**

**(x)**

**SW Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Liz watched her breath puff out in little vapor clouds against the cold D.C. air as she and Ressler stood at the edge of an alleyway, only a matter of miles away from the Post Office. The more she stood there trying to work out how this would go down smoothly, the flimsier the plan became. It was thoughts like that she tried not to have, because she had them too late and they didn't help besides. She finally couldn't help it and voiced, "Are you sure they're-"

The roar of a large vehicle coming towards them caused Ressler to step out of the alley and into the light of an overhead streetlamp. "That's them."

A non-descript, rusty dark blue van barreled around the corner and came to a precise stop at the exact location that Ressler had given them. Before the driver of the van could even turn the engine off, a dozen agents, armed and ready, surrounded the van and pointed their weapons forward.

The driver's mouth formed an 'oh' of surprise. With no other choice, he and his associate threw up their hands. Agents shouted at them, "FBI! Get out of the car! Get on the ground!"

Agents took them down within moments of their arrival. With the two men flat against the ground and restrained, Ressler ran to the back of the van. He went to break through the doors when … he found the lock had already been broken. He frowned and threw open the door. He leveled his gun forward. "FBI!"

His bellow was cut short as an empty van stared back at him, except for a few remnants of zip-ties and duct tape on the ground.

And one small, nondescript piece of paper.

He lifted it to his eyes. The writing was thin and sloppy and scrawled. But he could make out:

'Thank you, Mario. But our princess is in another castle.'

Followed by her trademark signature. Ressler growled and rolled his eyes before stalking away from the van.

Once the men were detained and removed from the street, Ressler stormed up to Liz. He handed her the piece of paper. "Another love note."

Liz said, "At least she doesn't forget to write."

Ressler said, "Get a team together. She can't be far. We'll sweep the area."

Liz nodded and joined him in organizing the agents to do a search. As they broke into groups to sweep the ten mile radius, she wagered that no one, no other government agency, had ever been as close as they were to finally catching the Cat.

Liz was about to get back into the car with Ressler, when her cell phone rang. It was the Post Office. She answered it, "This is Agent Keen."

"Agent Keen, we just received confirmation and wanted to alert you first. We've lost him."

Her blood ran cold. "… Lost who?"

"Reddington. His chip is no longer reporting back to base. He's off the grid."

In that moment, Liz felt as though she knew now what a planet felt like when it spun off its axis. The rug had been pulled out from beneath her, and solid ground had been swept up from under her feet. She'd imagined what this moment might feel like, tried to prepare for it, made specific, concrete plans around the possibility of it happening.

She would never admit it to any other living soul. She could barely even admit it to herself. But when she heard those words, it wasn't Red who was lost. It was her.

(x)

**Industrial Park**

**NE Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Steel. Cold, hard steel. The kind of glinting, shiny metal you can almost taste in your teeth. That was what Casey saw when her vision sharpened and she stared up into the ceiling. With a short groan, she tilted her head forward and lowered her gaze. She saw a middle-aged man with longish glossy black hair, a good tan – no, too good of a tan, scratch that – dark skin, and weapons. A lot of weapons. Though it hurt her head, she did some counting. Two guns, one in the small of his back, one for all the world to see in a holder at his side. A knife not far from the holster, another knife by his foot, and a some type of bulging weapon in between where his underarm met his chest.

And Red. Yep. She also saw Red.

She heard another man pacing somewhere in the room behind her. She focused her attention away from that and onto Red and this man as they continued in their conversation.

Jafar (That's the nickname she decided to give this new person. From the Aladdin movies.) was in the middle of speaking to Red. "-you think about it, it is time our interests have finally aligned."

Red spoke in an uninterested tone of voice. "It is surprising, though not completely unexpected." His eyes turned to Casey. "And it appears we have consciousness."

When Red addressed her, it brought her back to reality and to the present. Casey went to jump to her feet and speed out there, when she felt that same cold metal catch around her wrists.

Both Jafar and Red looked at her blandly, as if they had placed bets on what her reaction would be and were patiently waiting to see who would take home the winnings.

It happened quickly. Casey wrestled for only a moment before she worked her way out of the handcuffs. They dropped to the floor, and though dazed, she bolted to her feet. A little too quickly. She stumbled as she turned to make a clumsy, pathetic break for the door.

Jafar huffed out a loud laugh at around the same time his gunman had his weapon at her neck. Casey wasn't stupid. She froze. Jafar ambled over, taking his time. He turned to Red. "Those cuffs are new," he said in a calm voice with a heavy accent. "I tested them out myself before using them." He neared her. "That didn't take long."

Red commented from where he rested comfortably on the other side of the room. He wore his hat, though he kept his coat draped over his arm. "It is impressive," he said, his voice full of confidence. "No doubt you've heard the rumor that she shares lineage with the great Houdini. It's only drunken storytelling, of course." He finished with, "Double jointed. Not many people know that. I'd suggest duct tape."

Jafar took Casey by the shoulders with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his character. Casey paused and allowed him to, as she was stunned by Red into a moment of pure shock. Jafar sat her back down and kept a hand on her shoulder. "I don't know," he said. He looked at her as if she were an animal, an exotic one, but still an animal that could turn on its owner at a moment's notice. "I hear people like her are able to squirm their way out of that, too."

"She used up what tricks she had inside her escort out of the harbor. Plus, I trust your men are thorough. And even if not…" He nodded to the gunman behind Casey. "It appears you have the situation under control."

Jafar worked expediently. He had her wrists tied tightly behind her back with the aforementioned duct tape before she could even struggle. When she stared forward at Red, her face looked hurt. Then it looked furious. She growled, "What the hell, Red?"

"Rule number five," he answered. "The most important one not to forget. Or did you disregard that one, too?"

Casey's breathing became irregular, and then she erupted into a wild furious hurricane. "You son of a bitch!" She knocked her chair over and in her fit, some of the duct tape around her wrists did rip. "You set me up!"

Jafar picked her back up, chair and all, wrapped more duct tape around her wrists to tighten things up. He finished off the job by securing her ankles around the chair as well. "I think that's enough," he said. At first Casey thought Jafar was talking to her, but in actuality he was talking to Red. "Leave the room, Mr. Reddington, and let me …deal with her. There are some topics I'd like us to discuss."

Red didn't budge. "I've given you leeway and complied with what I can only denote as ridiculous requests. I've done so more with you than with anyone I can recall in recent circumstances. Don't misinterpret that into believing our dealings with be that simplistic, Jamar."

In the haze of it all, Casey couldn't help herself. She thought, 'Jamar. So close.'

Red continued, looking Jamar seriously in the eye. "Frankly, you've made a mess of this operation from start to finish," he said. "Unfortunately, my name is now attached to anything that happens here on out and I do have a reputation to protect. In fact, the only reason I'm still here and not in Cuba, Beirut, or any other country of my choosing is to ensure personally that this mess is cleaned up in its entirety."

Jamar said, "You're here because you are required to be."

Red frowned. "If you really believe that you can control whether I stay or leave, then your judgment is more impaired than I originally thought."

Jamar watched him, the slightest glint of agitation in his eyes, but he didn't choose to spend time arguing. Instead, he turned and focused his unwavering gaze at Casey. "As your friend has said-"

"He's no friend," she cut in.

Jamar stepped forward, blocking her view of anything except his face. "As this gentleman has said, my name is Jamar. You may not know me, but I know you."

Casey's breathing hastened. She tried to get it under control, but it wasn't working.

Jamar said, "You took something, something at least two people want. The person who hired me wants her ordered merchandise delivered as promised. Also, a powerful dictator wants to meet the little girl who stole his military intel. I have two very important people I need to keep very happy. And now, I've got you." He nodded his head over to Red. "I've even got him, if things go sour one way or another. We'll see. So far he's been helpful. Red's told me that you're … what do they call it here? A talker. He assured me that it won't be difficult to get some things out of you. For your sake, I hope that's true." He talked to her, like he was sharing a secret with her. "See, what I'm doing, I'm doing for a reason. When you meet the Syrians…" He laughed a little. "They won't have a reason. They won't want anything from you. There'll be nothing you can do or say to get them to stop." He spoke to her like a student who was typically very good, but who was having a difficult time grasping the lesson. "Do you understand?"

Casey didn't answer, couldn't, she wagered, even if she tried.

"But me? I'm different. You tell me what I want to hear, Casey, and I promise you I'll stop. It'll all stop. That might not sound like much comfort right now, but once you meet the other ones, the ones who really want you? You'll look back on this experience and you'll … appreciate some things about it." He spoke in the soft, menacing tone of a killer. "You don't believe me. I can see it. But you will. You will."

She felt fear twisting and turning inside him beneath her best poker face. Throughout the days, the fear had gone through varying degrees of severity. Sometimes it was big and panicky, trampling everything in sight. Sometimes it was small and gnawing, ripping with sharp teeth. She had a thought that broke through the others. 'It's always with me.'

Jamar backed up just in the slightest. "So, let's start with an easy one. Where's the computer chip?"

She quipped back. "What computer chi-"

Jamar slapped her hard across the mouth. The blow clipped the last word off with brutal neatness.

Her head snapped back. Casey didn't cry out. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, telling herself not to shout, not to cry, but to pull it together. Pull it –the hell- together.

"Good," he commented. "That's good. You'll need to save your energy. Because you may think I'm a monster, that I'm the scariest person you've met? Maybe in a while? You haven't seen anything. Those Syrians." He looked her in the eye. "Oh, Casey. They can't wait to meet you."

Casey tried to block it out, everything he said, everything he did. But the whole time she tried to get herself together, another voice spoke up inside her. It kept reminding her that there were two types of criminals who would tell you their name. The first were the remedial ones. The ones that made Mr. Magoo look like a criminal mastermind, like her friends driving the van from the Harbor. The second were like Jamar. It didn't matter whether they told you their name or not. Because you weren't going to live long enough for it to matter.

He took out a sharp, thin knife. It glistened underneath the fluorescent lights of the steel room. "So, why don't you tell me, Casey? What happened to the painting and the computer chip? Why can't anyone, no matter how much money or man-power they have, find it anywhere?"


	14. Hellcat

**After this chapter there are still some questions that need to be answered. I promise I'll get to them! Also, after this chapter, I sort of can't wait to do some Red and Lizzie scenes. :) Muchas gracias to RedandLizzie, PeetaKatniss10, bono-212, and Jessahme Wren. Thanks for reading along.**

**(x)**

**SW Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Liz let in the fear and let it paralyze her for only one…two… three seconds. Then, she immediately made a call. Aram picked up. "Hey Liz. I have Reddington's last reported location. I'm sending it to you now."

"I don't need that."

She silenced him with four words.

Liz kept going. "Do you remember those numbers I gave you after we got back from the Black Cat?"

Aram shifted gears. "Yes, I-"

"Good." Liz headed for Ressler's car. She motioned to him, and though he looked momentarily confused, Ressler followed her. "Put in those codes in the same program you use for tracking Reddington's chip. Now."

(x)

**Industrial Park**

**NE Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Casey's head pounded from the blow. She could taste blood in her teeth. Inside herself, she sunk down, deep, deep down further than she'd ever gone before. It was like falling into the ocean, watching the light above grow dimmer with each passing second. She expected defeat. She expected that there might even be a mild relief that came with it. Then, within those dark waters, she found something she didn't expect. The softest whisper of courage.

She raised her eyes to Jamar and tried on a fierce glare, seeing if she could make it believable. Make it true. Then she said as powerfully as she could, "You know, I know this is Monday morning quarterbacking. But maybe the people who hired me should have thought about what I might do with their painting before screwing me over."

Jamar laughed, a little too loudly and a little too dangerously. "You're looking for what … payment? The way I understand it people are paid –after- the product is delivered. Not before. After."

"I'm not talking about the money. You think they might have mentioned that there was something else inside the painting? Maybe put it in the fine print before I took the job?" She was on a roll now. She spoke flippantly. "Now, they can't find what I didn't know was there in the first place. You ask me? That sounds like piss poor planning. And a you problem."

The next blow caused colors to pop and her vision to blur. "You think this is some kind of game?" he asked calmly.

She coughed, a string of them, and rasped out. "No. Scrabble. Scrabble's a game."

In response, Jamar raised his knife into the air, and Casey braced herself and closed her eyes. She heard a sound, but felt nothing touch her skin. She weakly opened one eye, to see Red with a tight grip on Jamar's arm, holding back the knife only inches from her face.

"Now, now, Jamar. In my lengthy research on you, I was made to understand that you were not a man of high emotion." He did everything but cluck his tongue. "I can see that I should have checked you out personally. They really need a review site, a Yelp page, for men of your talents. It would prevent situations as unfortunate as this one."

Jamar grimaced. "You're questioning my techniques?"

"Oh, I'm doing more than that. I'm wondering if this really is just a desperate way for you to get back into your boss' good graces by any and all means necessary." Red held Jamar's attention now. "Especially after Cairo."

Jamar glared at him. "That's no concern of yours." He seethed, "I have work to do."

Red tilted his head and spoke brightly. "And I would let you return to your work, but as I so eloquently shared with you, I'm here to clean up the mess. Not sit back and watch you destroy the kitchen." Red looked to Casey and then back at Jamar. "Let me talk to her…" He turned back to Jamar. "I have a way of getting results, if you remember."

Jamar smirked. It was cold, calculating, and exacting. "I also remember that you serve yourself and no one else. Not me. Not my boss." He glanced at Casey. "And she isn't giving information as easily as you said she would."

"Well, this hasn't exactly been the slow, subtle interrogation I expected."

Jamar made a decision and spoke it. "You're done here." He nodded to his gunman. "Escort him out."

Red chuckled, deeply, mirthlessly. "It's entertaining that you think you have that kind of authority here. Really, it is. As I've said before, I'm not leaving until I see this situation completed to my satisfaction. I don't know about your reputation. To be honest, I haven't heard much about it. But I have mine." His words were an iceberg. "And I do not disappoint."

Something inside Jamar snapped. Casey didn't hear it, but she felt it, a subtle change in the room. His eyes widened. He took out his gun, clicked back the cartridge, and leveled it forward at Red. "I'll say this one more time. You're done here."

Red didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed. "I am going to urge you to think very carefully, Jamar. About what you're doing. Who I am and what I can make happen."

It would have been a standoff, except that Red had no gun. They stood there for the shortest moment.

At that exact moment, the door of the facility burst open in a cloud of smoke. Casey couldn't see it, but she heard the gunfire that followed. Before she even knew what was happening, Red moved with a quickness bred from practice. He dove for her and knocked over her chair, shielding her as best he could. In front of her, Jamar leveled his gun up and away from them, towards the door. He fired off a shot, followed by another.

The gunfire continued, and Jamar drained of his color. He seemed to watch everything, his interrogation, his job, his life slipping out of his fingertips.

His gaze shot down to Casey and Red. Jamar glared down at her in a way that no one had ever looked at Casey before. He lowered his gun and aimed.

She closed her eyes and heard two gun shots.

The first bullet hit Jamar straight in the chest, and he went down with it.

The second bullet, Jamar's final action, would have no doubt killed Casey. Would have. Except Red took it for her.

(x)

Liz bolted from the doorway and ran forward straight for Red and Casey, smoke still streaming out from her gun. From there, agents filled the room from top to bottom. Ressler ran ahead of her and checked Jamar's pulse. She ran to Red, drawn to him implicitly. She checked him for injuries and froze when she saw the smoke streaming out lightly from his side.

She took him by the shoulders. His name came out in a soft, high-pitched tone. "… Red?"

He looked up into her eyes. He reached down slowly and lifted up his button down shirt to show… a tightly woven bulletproof vest, which had deftly caught the bullet in its thread.

"Made of a fabric developed in New Zealand last month. Slightly more dependable than Kevlar. Eventually they'll be marketed and become available to this country's military. They'll make a fortune." He quirked a smile at her. "You didn't think I'd get taken down that easily… now did you?"

Relief hit her like a surprise wave at the beach and she collapsed forward, still holding onto his shoulder.

He gazed down upon her. "Why, Lizzie. You're speechless. … I am touched."

Liz's mouth parted open. She made herself speak. "Why didn't you let me know what you were planning?"

Red smiled his self-assured smile. "Why would I need to when it was clear that you had things well under control?"

She blinked and turned her attention to Casey. The girl shook and shivered, still shielded by Red. "Casey," Liz said. The girl looked right to her, as she heard her name. Liz asked, "Are you okay?"

The girl had a hard time focusing. When she did speak, it came out in a breaking, childish voice. "Oh my God… Oh my God…" Liz looked into the girl's face and saw lingering bruises, cuts from glass and asphalt, and a swollen knot on the back of her head. Red worked getting Casey's bonds removed, and once they were away, he gently helped her into a sitting position.

He turned to Liz, sweat on his brow. "She made it through," he said softly. "But she will certainly require medical attention."

Liz took out her phone and dialed. "Yes, this is Agent Keen. I'm going to need an ambulance. Look for the flashing police lights and sirens off of Rhode Island Avenue in NE in the industrial park near Highway 50. …Trust me. You'll see them."

Liz put down the phone and held Casey's shoulder, as Red stood up. The girl was in the room with them, but she wasn't present. Liz tried to focus her eyes on Casey's. "It's going to be okay."

Casey stared back, though not completely. It was unclear whether she believed her or not, but she managed a shaky nod.

Liz turned her gaze to Red and looked to the bloodied bandage on his right shoulder. "What about you?"

Red walked forward to overlook Jamar's body. He reached into the deceased man's pocket and retrieved his microchip. "Thank you for your concern, Lizzie. But it's no more than a scratch." He pocketed the chip and looked to her. "But you already knew that would happen, didn't you?"

Liz asked, "When did you find the sensors?"

"The ones your team initially developed as a Nicotine patch? I found them moment you handed me back my hat and coat the Black Cat, one in left rolled cuff of my trench coat, another underneath the manufacturer's tag of my hat. I thought two tracking devices along with the one I already had to be a bit excessive, but … I have always been a proponent of careful and thorough work."

Liz helped Casey up, and the girl allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

Red walked back and gently put his hands on Casey's shoulders. He searched her and asked, "Are you with us, Casey?"

Casey blinked her bleary eyes. She had no more comebacks, no more sarcasm. "Yeah. I… I'm here."

Red looked at Liz. He answered the question she didn't ask. "She'll be fine." His eyes locked onto hers. "Thanks to you."


	15. Walk the Cat Back

**Thanks to RedandLizzie, Jessahme Wren, and ladylampetia for the feedback! Here's some Red and Lizzie. Hoping the next chapter will be too…**

**(x)**

**Industrial Park**

**NE Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

They arrested the Cat. Ressler did the honors. Then, they moved Casey into an ambulance as quickly as possible. Red supervised the entire time, keeping close by the girl as they escorted her to the ambulance. The EMTs began their work bandaging her, and Casey let them. They attempted to treat Red, but he waved them away. From the asphalt a few feet back, Liz watched Red and Casey share a glance. While Casey's eyes gave away nothing, it was a familiar glance that Liz understood absolutely.

Before Red left Casey's side, Liz watched Casey grab him tightly by the shirt cuff. He turned back down to her. Casey lifted up her head and whispered something to him. Red sent her an indiscernible look, touched her head gently, and stepped away from her side.

From there, he stepped down and walked away from the ambulance. He moved over to Liz, still wearing his hat, his coat still draped over his arm. Before the ambulance took off, Ressler climbed inside to ride with the Cat. Liz smirked to herself. They'd missed her plenty of times. She didn't want to imagine what Cooper would say or do if they lost her again.

Bathed in the flashing lights of police sirens, Liz stood next to Red in relative silence. She shifted her gaze as coroners pushed a stretcher. She didn't have to see inside the body bag to know that it was Jamar Khalil.

Red drew in a breath. "I know what you're thinking, Lizzie. There have been times when you've questioned the decisions you've made in your short tenure as an agent. Right now you're thinking something along the lines of 'I could have shot him somewhere else. I could have chosen to keep him alive. How much more would we know if I did?'" When Liz didn't deny it, Red said, "I encourage you to view this situation outside of the typical. You have nothing to second guess in this decision. Jamar Khalil has spent most his life trying desperately to get into the good graces of thieves, mass murderers, and terrorists. Aside from his attraction to bloodlust, his desperation to align himself with a powerful figure would be his sole motivation in this instance. If left alive, there would be little to stop him from returning to his goals."

"I'm guessing for now that I'll just have to trust your word on that," she said.

"Perhaps I'm being too loquacious." He tried something else. "Jamar was a cold-blooded killer. You didn't just save one life tonight, Lizzie. You saved two." He expanded. "I couldn't walk into a room with Jamar Khalil unless I had no weapons on my person with the chip in my shoulder deactivated. I gave that up, to ensure something."

"More than one thing," Liz said.

Though he stood, Red sat back, watching her. "Do tell."

"Tell you what?"

"What you already know."

"I know someone called those criminals down by the harbor to tip them off about the Cat. I have my suspicions that it was you. I also have my suspicions that you would have preferred for it all to go down at the location Ressler gave. That way we could have taken down the smugglers, Khalil, and the Cat all in one shot."

He found something amusing in what she said. "That's one theory. A well thought-out one though not without its imagination."

"I also know you aligned yourself with a known assassin, torturer, part-time terrorist, jack of all trades in Jamar Khalil, and that you were willing to go AWOL to be there when he questioned Casey."

He asked questions he already knew the answer to, seemingly just to test her. Liz remembered now how much she disliked it. "And why would I do that?"

The winter wind pushed back her hair, brushing it over her shoulder. She spoke the next words quietly. "It was the only way to keep her alive."

He said, "It was a way to dispense of threats to the Cat and to myself. Also it was a way to receive as much information regarding the situation as possible, and as well as a lucrative move for my own personal and business reasons, I assure you." He was quick to change the subject. "One thing is certain. It would have been remarkably more difficult to accomplish without you."

Liz looked at him. "You expect me to believe that you didn't have that entire situation under control?"

He stared back. "Difficult though it might be to believe, you're not the only one trusting someone here, Lizzie."

"How did you know I would find you?"

He held her in his gaze, in that way that made her feel exposed and uncertain and truly seen down to her bones. "There are some things that can be known without needing to speak all the reasons why."

"I could have missed something. I could have come up with a different plan entirely that didn't include tracking devices, phony contracts, or happening upon her complete childhood history."

"I'd like to think I know you a little better than that, Lizzie. You cover your bases." At that exact moment, Red's car pulled up with Dembe sitting in the driver's seat. He looked at Red and Red looked back. "It's sound operating procedure."

Liz looked at Dembe, seeing Red's Plan B pull up in a fashionable car. "I did a little more than that," she said.

Red turned and appraised her. "Did you now?"

Liz tried to smile, but it wasn't easy. "You told me that I needed to think like a criminal in order to find her, to find any of them. While I think that advice can be helpful, I didn't take it this time."

Red huffed a short laugh through his closed mouth. "Well, that is very popular."

"What is?"

"The women around me opting not to take my advice."

Liz continued, "I couldn't take it, because it didn't apply." Red watched her, appearing for the moment amused, and allowed for her to continue. "The Cat has been a career criminal, like the profile I first designed. But that's not what helped me find her."

"And what did?"

"It turned out that I didn't have to think like a criminal. I just had to think like you."

Red watched her. "And what was that like? Thinking like me?"

"A risk," she said. "A risk to my life. Yours. Casey's. And to my career."

"And yet it seems to have been a calculated one that's paid off handsomely."

Liz hesitated. For a moment, she stopped herself from sharing what she thought next. Then, looking at Red, she decided that she couldn't stop herself, not even if she tried. "There were signs that this was different and yet very much the same as something I had seen before." Before Red could ask what those signs were, she told him. "You thought originally that this was really the work of a copycat. So, you didn't believe that this was her MO at all. Then, you drop everything in order to talk to her, when all she wanted to know is if you were going to kill her or not. That's not exactly your MO either."

"Is that all it took for you to make your decisions?"

"If I'm being honest, that's not even what decided it for me," she said. "It was the look on your face when we drove back from the Black Cat. You had the same look on your face after you killed the Stewmaker and saved my life."

"I wasn't aware I had a look."

"My husband would call it a tell."

Red looked off into the distance before returning his eyes to Liz's. "Do you plan to always make your career decisions based solely off of gut feelings based in your intuition? You've taken that path before."

"I have. Just not when it comes to you," she said.

He smiled at her then, and she found herself close enough to him that she could smell his aftershave, the lingering scent of gun powder, and all other things intangibly him.

Liz felt an awkward silence stem in between them. She racked her brain for a statement, a question, anything to change the air between them. "The Cat got your attention when you were in the ambulance. What did she say to you?"

Red kept his eyes on Dembe and his awaiting car. "She suggested that I spend the evening in, preferably with a glass of white wine, perhaps while making use of my fireplace for the first time so far this winter."

"Unless there's a video game reference in there I'm not hearing, that sounds less like her and more like you."

"I may have taken the liberty of some minor embellishment." He said, "Why don't you join me?"

She looked at him, perplexed. "Join you? For your 'evening in'?"

"While the Cat is in custody, there are questions that will be asked, soon and by your superiors. It would benefit you to have the answers to them." He appraised her. "The Syrians still don't have their military locations. There are still two live contracts out that haven't been put out by your agency. Jamar Khalil won't be able to tell us the name of his or the Cat's employer, assuming they're the same person, and I doubt the FBI has any leads on where the painting or the computer chip might be hiding."

"Are you trying to tell me you have the answers to all those questions?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Lizzie, that even with that question, you look like you haven't asked even half of what's on your mind."

Her words were weak-said. "It's late. I should go home."

"Why?" Red asked simply. He stared into her eyes. "Is there something there for you?"


	16. All Cats Are Gray in the Dark

**A big thank you to RedandLizzie, jjgoodhope, Jessahme Wren, a guest reviewer, and ladylampetia. I took a little extra time with this chapter, because a) I enjoyed writing it and b) I wanted to be the best it could be. For added fun, if you look up Claude Debussy's "Clair De Lune", I played that while I wrote.**

**To Guest: Hi there! I'm sorry to hear you feel that way, and of course, I encourage you to keep reading. If not though, thanks for reading as long as you did! In the future, if I ever write a Red/Lizzie romance, I'll surely label it as such. Thanks for the feedback.**

**(x)**

**18****th**** Street NW**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Liz met Red at a tall, well-lit brownstone, which he told her that he rented on an 'as needed' basis from 'an acquaintance'. Once they stepped inside, Red excused himself, explaining that he had to 'freshen up'. While he refused help from the EMTs at the crime scene, Red was still human. She knew 'freshen up' meant he needed to address his own medical needs, just as she knew 'as needed from an acquaintance' meant 'whenever I want from someone with money whose story ends with them owing me a favor'.

Left alone in his living room, Liz laid her coat across the top of the couch and perused his current living space at her leisure. She could only assume that the brownstone had been pre-furnished. She couldn't imagine that Red would have taken time to set down roots, not when he was far more comfortable in nomadic living. Still, whoever had done the decorating had done so in a style that suited him. The furniture was warm and aged, but not past its prime. The drapes, wall hangings, and other finishing touches were distinguished, but not outdated. The room had the scent of old books and history, but looked like it had just been freshly cleaned only hours before their arrival.

Her tour around the room ended at a refurbished record player, which had shelves of records stacked to its right. She leafed through the records, finding albums from mostly jazz musicians, Johnny Cash, and Frank Sinatra. Some albums she knew; some she didn't. Towards the back of the stack, she happened upon some classical music and smiled to herself.

She heard Red before she saw him. "I can't take credit for the collection," he said. "But it's a fairly comprehensive one."

Liz turned around to find him standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Any medical care he'd given himself was unapparent.

"Is everything back where it should be?"

Red glanced at his shoulder. "I'm back on the grid, if that's what you're asking." He held up two bottles. "Chardonnay or chardonnay?"

She had a moment's hesitation. She'd come back to discuss business. She needed all the information she could receive. Then a second voice spoke up inside of her. 'You killed a man today. You need a drink.' She walked over and assessed each bottle, before pointing to the one to the right.

He lifted it up to his eyes. "Cakebread Cellars."

"Napa Valley," Liz said. "It's been awhile since I've seen that one."

"Just so you know, you chose this one over the Chablis Grand Cru Les Clos."

She shrugged. "Just because something's decadent doesn't necessarily make it better."

"I see you'll stand by your decision." Red walked into the kitchen while Liz stood in the doorway. He brought down two wine glasses and expertly uncorked the bottle. He mused as he worked, "Sometimes the things that boast decadence and extravagance are those most devoid of any at all."

"I like the California grapes. They taste like summer."

Red seemed to like something about that turn of phrase. He handed Liz the first glass and then poured one for himself.

Liz accepted the glass and sat down on the edge of the couch in the living room. She then immediately turned to business. "I got a text from Donald. He confirmed that Casey made it to the hospital and is being treated. They think she has a concussion."

Red's face was indiscernible. He walked over to where Liz had been leafing through the records and scanned through them himself. He finally said, "That wouldn't be surprising, given the events of the past twenty-four hours."

"They're going to keep her overnight and see how she responds over the next day or so. I wouldn't be surprised if Donald stood guard at her doorway the entire time."

"Concussion or not, if she decides she's overstayed her welcome, let me assure you she'll find a way to bid him farewell."

Liz took a sip of her wine. She held the wine in her mouth for just a moment and closed her eyes. It reminded her of the sun on her face, fields of grape vines, and crisp air off the Santa Ana's. Then, just as quickly, she returned to the present. "She learned that. From her father."

"That's a bold statement, though a simplistic one." Red lifted the record that Liz had last looked at. He smoothly took the record from out of its album cover. "You're much smarter than that."

Liz watched Red as he set up the record. "She learned it from her father first, and then from others later."

Classical piano music began to lightly and carefully play. Red walked over, wine glass in hand. "Keep going."

Liz pinned Red with her stare. "She learned it from you. So then the only questions would be when and how."

Red took a long sip of wine, savored it, and then sat down on the opposite end of the couch to face Liz. "Claude Debussy," he said, of the music playing. "He was recognized by his mentor before he was out of middle school. Ten, I believe." He took another sip of wine and said after a moment's thought, "No one should be that good at anything at such a young age, and yet … some are."

"So, you think it's a gift?"

"It's a rarity." He settled in and became comfortable, crossing his ankles and resting his arm against the top of the couch. "I didn't teach Casey how to do the things she does. She was born and raised for the job, whether it was inherent in her to become a thief or not. I came along after she'd already met someone else who … added to her growing education."

"Who was that?"

"A man in Singapore." Red fluidly changed the subject. "I met her there and I was far from her teacher. I shared a few insights. Though she might see it differently."

Liz went back to the first question she asked him as they were driving back from the Black Cat. "Red, how do you know her?"

Red leaned in. "The same way I know everyone, Lizzie. The back alleys and seedy underbelly and underground rings and dark hidden spaces in the system and furtive circles in which I travel and where I continue to belong."

Liz pinpointed. "You meet all of them that way. But something about her was different."

Red sucked in a breath. "The Cat-"

"Casey McCleach of Bangor, Maine."

Red's gaze changed in just the slightest. Liz could have sworn for just a second she denoted a modicum of pride in his stare. "Casey," he said, "is not a true blacklister. Though she was well on her way to becoming one. Either that or becoming a cautionary tale for all smart-mouthed, under-aged international thieves everywhere."

"She does have quite the rap sheet. It'll make it hard for a jury not to convict."

Red didn't seem particularly worried. "It won't come to that, for a number of reasons."

"I'd like to hear you tell Cooper that, after she's stolen a laundry list of paintings, sculptures, jewelry, and now Syrian military locations."

Red tilted his head at Liz thoughtfully and said, "You found a wealth of information on her upbringing, her involvement with government child protective services, her criminal history, and her short but significant relationship with her father. What did your intel say about her mother?"

"It didn't," Liz said, a little frustrating sigh coming out. "It was next place I was looking when Donald got the call that the criminals at the harbor were bringing her to us."

Red reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, crisp piece of white paper. He handed it to Liz.

Liz frowned and accepted it. She looked up and said, "This is the name of a hospital."

"In Michigan," he said. "Her first name is Patricia. The McCleach part you already know."

"What will they tell me?"

"The information you receive from them will shed some light on the events of the past few months."

So her mother was sick, Liz thought to herself. "I wasn't aware she kept in touch with her mother."

"Few are, but then few know her name, race, gender…" He took another sip of wine.

"She took a page out of your book."

"And what title would be on that cover?"

Liz half-smiled. "It would sound something like… Red's Complete Guide to Off-the-Grid Living."

"Up until recently, she had done excellently. But with the risks she was taking, her eventual downfall was really only a matter of time."

Liz watched him. "You took steps to prevent that." She sat up a little straighter. "You knew the moment that you heard that computerized voice come over the line at the Post Office that you were going to involve yourself."

"It was certainly more than curious."

Liz took it a step further where Red didn't. "You wanted to save her."

He gazed downward in thought before meeting her eye. "That's passionately spoken, Lizzie. Straying from that quixotic notion, I might say instead that I saw an opportunity and it was in my best interest to take it."

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe the wine was all the threadbare excuse she needed to push the issue. "You don't like being reminded that at times you do choose to save lives. In this instance, a teenager's. Granted, no matter what reason she has, she's still a dangerous criminal. But … You don't lump her in with the rest. I wonder if it's her age or if it's something else."

Red thought on that for a moment. To his credit, he didn't become defensive. He said, "Casey's not a true criminal." He looked at Liz. "She just likes to play one on TV."

Liz spoke what she thought might be a realization. "You'd rather she wasn't a criminal at all."

"Some people, they burn slowly and steadily throughout their lives. Others go out in a blaze of glory. I'm interested in seeing what she looks like when she's reached her full potential. In order to see that… first, she needs to stay alive."

"How many times have you had to tell her that?"

"In those exact words? Never."

"And not in those exact words?"

"The same amount you have to tell a teenager anything. A lot," he said bluntly.

Something about that made Liz smile. She took another sip of her wine and realized that she was getting down to the end of the glass. She sat back, for the first time comfortably, and looked to him. "You might say you have quite a group."

Red arched an eyebrow. "I would, hm?"

"Dembe, Casey…" She added, "Me."

"If there's something you want to ask, Lizzie, I'd think by now you wouldn't bother with the crescendo."

She said, "Who saves you, Red?"

"That would assume first that I'd need saving. I did away with that idea some time ago." He took the bottle from the coffee table and poured her another glass. "I've made peace with what and who I am, Lizzie."

"That sounds…final."

"Could you say the same for yourself?"

"I'm not done," she said, "with who and what I am."

He smiled ever so slightly. "And who you are now… Is it what you thought it would be?"

"Yes. And no." She could hear Red silently asking her to expand upon her point, and she said, "It used to be …more simple. Black was black. White was white. I made up my mind about what I wanted to be and what I wanted to pursue. I wanted to be one of the good guys, wear the white hat."

"That isn't what you've done?"

"I've done my best to fight for what I thought was right, bring justice to those who deserved it." Red's face seemed to reflect that he agreed. She took another drink of her wine. "It's all just so much grayer than I thought it would be."

"It's overwhelming and relieving just how gray it can become."

"When did you start accepting that?"

"Around the same time I dispensed with labels," he said simply. "Who's the agent. Who's the criminal. Who's the wife, who's the husband. Who's the child, who's the parent. It all…" He seemed to be pausing to select the words that would most suit him.

Liz offered, "Gets in the way?"

Red shared an understanding glance with her. "It gets in the way. Of who we really are."

Liz had taken a few tentative steps forward. She'd come too close to the line not to cross it. "And who are we to each other, Red?"

Red sat forward, closing the distance between them ever so slightly. "We're a choice," he said. "Not only made once, but regularly and often."

"And if we keep making that choice?"

Red sat back and nursed his wine glass. "It means we're a walking contradiction." He looked away for a moment. "But then I suppose we all are."

Liz set down her wine glass on the coffee table and rested her head against the silky fabric of the couch. She only had to wonder briefly what her own contradictions were, before several answers came to mind in a surprising rush. Here she drank a glass of wine with her adversary, a dangerous man with an intimidating criminal history, who had told her verbatim not to trust him. Despite that knowledge, she felt safer here in this room with him than she did at work, with her fellow agents, or even in her own home with her husband.

Red began talking about Claude Debussy again, no doubt in conjunction to something they'd said prior. Words faded in and out. About how Debussy had become enamored of a woman who didn't return the sentiments and how it could be heard in the composition that played. She needed to ask Red further questions about his involvement with the Cat. She needed to ask about the painting and the military locations. If Red knew where it was, she needed to know, too. She needed to know why he was the picture of ease and comfort when out there in the world there was still an active contract out on his life and Casey's. She tried not to think about the weight of the past twenty-four hours or how long it had been since she had truly fallen fast asleep.

She realized her head was nodding. It would be pretty foolish to fall asleep on the couch, when she needed to get back home. On the other hand, her house would still be there in five or ten minutes, and she wasn't going to go to sleep anyway. She only wanted to close her eyes for a minute…

(x)

"…The relationship eventually faltered following his winning of the Prix De Rome in 1884 and obligatory residence in Italy, as most relationships tend to after such success." Red stopped as he looked over at Lizzie.

Her head rested soundly against the couch cushions, and her chest rose up and down as her breathing became rhythmic.

Red said softly, "Though I suppose that's enough discussion of musical history for one evening." He watched her resting. He tried to remember when he had slept so well or with such ease, and of course, he couldn't.

He lifted up her wine glass soundlessly and cleaned up as the music playing from the record softened and then stopped altogether. He dimmed the lights, turned off the record player, and walked carefully over to Lizzie. When he took a blanket from atop one of the Queen Elizabeth chairs and draped it over top of her, she still didn't budge.

Looking down at her, he brushed a strand of her hair gently out of her eyes and leaned down to kiss her lightly on top of her head. At the doorway out of the living room, he looked back and said softly, "Good night, Lizzie."


	17. Let Sleeping Cats Lie

**Wow, I'm blown away by the reviews. Thanks everyone. Shout-outs to RedandLizzie, jjgoodhope, Redlisted, bono-212, ladylampetia, Jessahme Wren, and Pandora'sMoon for all the feedback. By my calculations, I'll be putting up 3-4 more chapters to wrap things up!**

**(x)**

**Georgetown University Hospital**

**3800 Reservoir Road, NW**

**Washington, D.C.**

**Present Day**

Donald Ressler felt the sun on his face. Its rays were warm, calming, safe. He stood on his deck in the brisk morning air with a cup of coffee overlooking a forest glen. The steam off the hot drink rolled up into his face. He couldn't remember what he had been thinking about or how he got there. Suddenly, he blinked and squinted as he heard some electronic noises coming from somewhere. They didn't belong. Then, he heard his wife's voice from right beside him. "Donald?"

Ressler shifted awake with a start. He awoke to find himself slouched down in a hospital chair, still wearing the same suit he'd worn the day prior. He heard the electronic noises of the monitor. He blinked his eyes blearily to see the Cat, awake and sitting up in her hospital bed.

Casey looked over at him. "Man, you went out like a light." She nodded upward. "I was gonna wake you up. Platoon came on TV, seemed like it would be your kind of thing. But you just really looked like you needed some real, honest-to-God sleep."

Ressler felt a swell of mild annoyance coupled with sick relief at seeing that she was still right where he left her, despite his cat-nap. That's when he noticed what she had in her hands.

He rushed forward. "Give me that." He wrestled the cell phone out of her hands easily.

Casey shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like you were using it."  
Ressler bore down upon her, demanding, "What were you using it for? What did you do? Tell me. Now."

"Whoa, whoa…" She looked at him oddly and put up her hands. "I was just checking Yahoo News. And I got you past that level in Fruit Ninja you were stuck at."

Sighing angrily, he checked the history in his phone, recent downloads, and every other space in his phone he could think of that might possibly lead to a local or international catastrophe. He found all data areas of his phone clean, which of course, didn't mean anything. He frowned at her, holding up the phone. "How did you get this?"

She laid back in the bed. "When I tripped about an hour ago and you caught me right before they got me back in bed."

"So, all amateur dramatics."

"No. I mean, I really tripped. I got dizzy. I just figured I'd take advantage of it while I was there."

Ressler sat back down in a final way and shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket. He stared away from her and towards the TV, jaw clenched.

Casey looked down at the tray next to her hospital bed. "Do you want any of these little packets of saltine crackers they gave me? You're like a machine. I haven't seen you eat anything since we got here."

He focused his gaze on her. "Stop that."

"Stop what? Offering you food or borrowing your smartphone?"

He didn't justify the question with an answer. "Things are about to get a whole lot less cute now that you've been arrested on federal charges. If I wanted to, I could add stealing government property, obstructing a federal investigation, and antagonizing a federal agent to the list."

"Is that last one a real thing? Can you really charge someone with that?"

"You're asking me to find more to charge you with? You sure that's the smartest way to be spending your time?"

She thought it over. "No, I get you. You're right. I should be more worried, I guess."

"So why aren't you?"

She searched herself and obviously didn't find what Ressler was looking for. "I guess I'm still just pretty happy to be alive."

"Yeah, well, the actions taken by the federal government are the only reason for that. You better work on your attitude. From here on out, a lot of people are going to have to work their tails off to keep you alive. A lot of people you taunted. A lot of people you embarrassed."

For a moment she looked contrite, but it came and went so quickly it was tough to tell if Ressler saw it. Though she did say, "I'm sorry."

"No," he said with finality. "No, you don't get to do that. I know you might be new to facing the consequences of your actions, but you don't just to get apologize. That doesn't make this go away."

"What if I said something else?"

"I don't think you hear me. You don't get to talk your way out of this one. You're going to be held accountable. My advice is that you spent your time hoping and praying you don't get tried as an adult."

"No, I mean…" She rephrased herself. "Not if I said something else. What if I meant something else? What if I wasn't trying to make anything go away?"

He took a breath then. Every action and decision she made reminded him of the crap Reddington pulled all the time, and it made him angry. Angrier than he would have normally felt, he imagined. He didn't back down, but he also took care not to escalate the situation. They'd be questioning her soon, and when they did, having at least a hint of rapport wouldn't hurt. "Then you should say what you mean, not what sounds good."

"How about…?" Her voice softened. "Thank you for making it your job to find me and for showing up when you did." She looked at him sincerely. "A lot of people think they can do things like that. But they can't."

For a long time Donald didn't respond. He let the statement of gratitude hang there, like a painting he wasn't sure he liked and didn't know what to do with besides. They sat in the glow and white noise of some poorly done reality TV that neither of them were watching. Finally, he said, "You said Platoon was on?"

"Yes, sir." Casey picked up the remote and changed the channel. "It's almost over though."

That was fine by Ressler. He liked the end, though he didn't say as much.

Casey relaxed in the hospital bed and rested her hands behind her head. "I got you the achievement weapons cache. That oughtta make getting past the next levels a little easier."

"My six-year-old second cousin put that on there when I let him play with my phone."

Casey unwrapped one of the packets of crackers and popped one in her mouth. "Don't sweat it, man. It's cool. I'm not gonna tell anyone you're playing Fruit Ninja."

(x)

18th Street, NW

Washington, D.C.

Present Day

Red heard a knock on his bedroom door. He hadn't been sleeping. Couldn't, he found. He'd been standing by the window, looking out onto the D.C. skyline, lost in thought. He drew in a breath and looked at the clock. 3:30 a.m. From the sound of the knock, he knew exactly who it was.

He opened up the door to come face to face with Dembe. Though he knew the man to be unusually kind, loyal, and perpetually clad in dark clothing (Red had in fact not once seen him dressed completely in light colors.), he still cut an intimidating figure standing just outside Red's doorway.

"Yes, Dembe?" Red asked.

He said simply, "It's here."

"So it's confirmed."

Dembe took out a cell phone and showed Red a picture on his screen.

Red glanced at it and said, "I'll get my coat."

Once he was dressed and ready, he and Dembe headed for the door. Before leaving, Red checked on his house guest. Liz had sunk deeper into the couch as she slept, and despite the activity around her, she remained blissfully asleep. Red touched her head gently. He wrote a quick note and left it on the coffee table before stepping back out onto the streets of D.C.


	18. Sitting in the Catbird Seat

**Hi, everyone! Gotta give some thanks to RedandLizzie, Jessahme Wren, and Pandora's Moon! I'm having fun and taking my time wrapping things up. I made some decisions this chapter. Mostly that while her time on the show ended too soon, I still really want to write Luli…**

**(x)**

**Fernando De Noranha, Brazil**

**Private Landing Strip**

**Four Years Earlier**

Casey stayed awake for the entire plane ride. She_ made_ herself stay awake for the entire plane ride. She'd already been stupid enough to drink whatever that man had given her on the plane. Right after she'd be stupid enough to get caught and knocked out by the crazy son of a bitch. She stopped talking to him after he told her where they were going. Frank always said, in that absolutely ridonkulous French accent of his, "Indecision dresses you as a coward; jabbering away dresses you as a corpse." But then again… She sighed to herself. He'd said stupid things before.

Read: Today's word? Was _stupid._

Frank for getting himself killed, Casey for getting herself in this situation, and this guy for plopping her down in a plane and taking her to …

"Fernando De Noranha."

Casey's head snapped over to look at Red, when he took the words right out of her head.

"Look down," he said. "You'll see her."

She arched her neck in the slightest to look out the window. The Brazilian sunset cast soft colors against the water and the island and… WHOA! The plane dipped into a descent, and she swallowed as she felt her stomach drop. She steeled herself and gripped her white knuckles into the armrest to her right.

"Take a deep breath," Red said casually. "And breathe it out slowly. You don't want to make yourself sick, not before you get some authentic Brazilian cuisine. The seafood here is cooked..." He said the next word with sincerity. "Flawlessly."

Casey refused to look at him, and she didn't follow his instruction. Mostly, she had to admit, out of spite. Then, when she felt her stomach start to churn she sucked in a breath and let it out.

She didn't tell him that she felt better. But she did.

They landed smoothly, and the dark-skinned man flying the plane left the flight deck and readied the stairway. Casey kept trying to catch his eye, but she couldn't. He was a man focused on the task at hand, and at least for the moment, that task did not concern her at all.

A smile graced Red's face as he walked forward, followed by the doctor who took her vital signs when she woke up. He clapped his hand against the man's back. "Abraham, welcome to paradise. You have a room waiting for you at Pousada Mar Atlantico. If you need anything…"

"I won't have to call you," the doctor said, as if sharing a secret. "You'll get in touch with me."

"Your memory is sharp, and your good humor a delight. Thank you again."

"Any time. And if you need any more work done…"

"You're the man I would call in such circumstances, though let's hope that's not a concern for quite some time."

Dr. Maltz left the plane first, presumably to go enjoy the island and its amenities. Casey kept thinking about the doctor after he left. He reminded her of a salesman at a department store. He knew what to say and how to say it, and it all sounded just as it should. But she still wasn't buying the vacuum.

Her thoughts were cut short as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at Red. He was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses along with his ensemble. "Follow me, Casey. There's a car waiting."

She didn't like the way he said her name, but she did follow him down the stairway. The first sensation she felt was a sudden, blinding wave of _heat_. Like someone was blowing a hairdryer on full blast right into her face. That burst of heat was then quickly followed by a welcome, cooling breeze that smelled of palm trees, a hint of something floral, and the ocean. Casey brushed her hair out of her eyes and carefully walked down the steps, feeling unsure on her feet after the plane ride.

The next thing she saw was a woman. A lovely, graceful, yet somehow severe-looking woman who looked back at her with cool interest. That is, until her gaze fell to Red. She greeted him with a 1000-watt smile and a smooth embrace before she kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Red grinned when he finally pulled away. "How are you, Luli?"

"Tan."

He ran his hands down her arms and gave her a once-over. "So you are."

"And you?"

His voice was almost as crisp as his shirt collar. "If I were any better, I'd be twins." His eyebrows raised and he motioned over to her. "This … is Casey. She'll be joining us on our ventures for the time being."

Luli looked to her. It took Casey a moment, but she said, "Hi."

The woman smiled ever so slightly. "Welcome to Brazil." Then, the four of them – Red, Luli, Dembe, and Casey – piled into a light-colored older model car that looked like it had just rolled off the factory lot.

Casey sat in the back with Red, while Luli and Dembe rode up front. She listened to them chatter, with Red making no mention of his partner, Frank's death, or … any stolen items that still remained missing. She stared forward, taking it all in and clinging in a desperate way to Frank's advice. She wasn't sure if it would keep her afloat, but any piece of wreckage no matter how flimsy was better than nothing at all.

Red laughed heartily at something that Luli said. It would have been a pleasant sound, Casey decided, under almost any other circumstance. Then he turned to her. "We'll be spending the night at Dolphin Hotel. It's not my usual taste, but under tight deadlines, it'll have to do. You'll be sharing a room with Luli. We'll get you something to eat, some toiletries, room service if you really want it… Though I think what you'll be most interested in will be a good night's sleep."

She made her voice sound hard. "I'm not tired."

Red turned his gaze away. His expression said that he did not believe this was possible, but that he could see nothing to gain in challenging her statement.

It was just as well. Her body had plans that her mind didn't know about. As soon as they checked into the hotel and walked upstairs, she barely made it onto the nearest bed before passing out asleep.

(x)

Red lounged in a comfortable reclining chair on the balcony of his hotel room. He breathed in the warm air and took in the breath-taking view of a white beach, dark ocean waves, and the crescent moon that reflected off the water. He heard Luli come in before she took a seat in the reclining chair beside him.

She handed him a drink, the same fruity fair that he'd given to Casey on the plane. Except this one had fresh pineapple. And fine, smooth Brazilian rum. Red clinked his glass against hers and took a sip.

"Drink it in." Luli gazed out onto the scenery and said, "You've had a busy twenty-four hours."

"They have been unexpectedly eventful."

"Is she saying anything?"

"Just the usual responses brimming of sarcasm, contempt, and teenage angst."

"Sounds charming."

"It's not unwarranted. If she really knew what was happening, she'd have made a break for it when it plane landed." He shrugged, unbothered. "But she's too young and she almost passed out in the elevator on the way up."

"I thought she was going to fall right into Dembe." Luli sipped her own drink and realized. "You think she'll come around."

Red gave a thoughtful noise. "It's a certainty," he said. "Just a matter of when."

"I'm guessing that's where I come in." She spoke easily. They'd done this dance before, just with different casts on different stages.

"Treat her kindly, but don't be a caretaker. This is one who'll get attached."

Luli glanced at him and arched an eyebrow in that graceful way only she could. "I thought I just heard you calling her everything but a brat."

"She'll look for a life raft," he said, not knowing of the analogy Casey had made inside her mind only hours before. "And you have a way of …" He took her hand in his. "Drawing people to you."

"If she does attach to me, won't that just help things along?"

Red shook her head, impressing this upon her. "It's not about that."

"Is she the only one we have to worry about getting attached?"

He looked at her and chose his words thoughtfully. "When procuring information, you can either be ignorant to or be aware of your inclinations, your history, and your past. I choose to be aware."

Luli nodded, knowing at least some of what he alluded to. She ran her hand along his before asking, "How's your drink?"

He held up his glass. It sparkled against the moon light. "The fruit's ripe and it's a little tart for my taste. Other than that, it's sweet, innocent, untarnished by the elements…" He looked over at her. "With its whole life ahead of it."


End file.
